


a calendar year of you

by blondeslytherin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Crushes, Dream Sex, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Past Relationships, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Keith/Shiro (Voltron), One-Sided Attraction, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Partying, Pining, Rivals, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, background Adashi, death is a heavy subject, theyre both idiots, told over 12 months, valentines day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2019-09-25 04:01:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 35,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17114099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondeslytherin/pseuds/blondeslytherin
Summary: They meet at a New Year's Eve party--romantic, right?Wrong.Keith was fine with life before Lance came barging in. Really, he was. But then Lance stays in his life and Keith begins to wonder how a year ever felt so short before now.Absent moms, way too much college drinking, and a boy who only wants what he can't have.~~~“So,” he started, stretching the word out, “does that mean you’re here with anyone?”Keith paused, taking a moment to look at Lance, the nervous body language, the almost too suave aura he presented.“I’m not,” Keith said carefully, knowing where this was going but having enough cheap beer in his system that he really didn’t fucking care.“Well,” said Lance, moving close enough that Keith could feel the heat radiating off of him, “it is getting awfully close to midnight.”And then Lance is leaning in, and Keith panics.“Sorry, I don’t kiss strangers."





	1. January

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys, so i reposted this because I wasn't really happy with something about it, and so here it is (version 2.0). This is probably one of my favorite concepts of all time that i've written, so i really hope you all enjoy it as well :)
> 
> comments and kudos make my day, and, as always, thank you for taking a chance on this :)
> 
> (beta read by: Softe_Gays)

**December 31st, 11:52 p.m., 2018**

Keith leaned against the railing, forearms braced against the wooden board, windbreaker zipped all the way up, ending just below his chin. It was chilly for the area, colder than Keith had originally anticipated, with his breath forming white clouds in front of his face with every exhale. The sounds of people laughing and drinking filled the air all around him, but for some reason, Keith was stuck inside of his own little bubble, not partaking in any of it but instead studying the stars his brother tried so hard to make him forget, just for tonight.

“Have a drink, clear your head!” was what Shiro had shouted from across their shared apartment. “You’re in college, live like a college student for just once!”

But here he was, doing exactly what both him and Shiro knew he would be doing, glancing away from the stars and down towards the sounds of laughter and splashing water. Whoever thought it was a good idea to be swimming on December 31st deserved to get hypothermia. People were camped out on the deck as well, pretty girls draped over the laps of frat boys that gave no shits about them past their boobs, cheap beer sloshing out of cups as people reveled in the year they had lived.

Keith heard a few New Year’s Resolutions as well, scoffing to himself as another girl claimed this would be the year she stopped falling for guys that didn’t give a damn about her. _You and me both_ , he thought bitterly, not allowing himself to wonder where _he_ might be tonight.

The sliding glass door opened behind him and Keith fixed his attention once more on the sky. The light pollution was bad tonight, even for Smack Ass Nowhere, Arizona, but he could just make out some of the easier constellations.

“Drink, drink, drink!” The cheer came from inside, and Keith actually thought he heard Shiro’s voice in the mix. He gnawed at his lip, wondering if he should go inside and check on him, but a single glance over his shoulder told him that while Shiro was in fact part of the cheering crowd, Adam was there with a steadying hand on his back. That bitter feeling that arose every time he saw the pair of them was back once more, as was the immediate return of guilt. Shiro—more than anyone else—deserved to be happy, even if it hurt Keith to see it.

A hand on his own back startled him out of his stupor, and Keith stiffened, freezing where he stood.

“Hey bud, you okay there?”

“Don’t touch me,” Keith snapped, stepping away from the warm hand, not bothering to glance over his shoulder at the offender.

The offender was not to be deterred, stepping from behind Keith to in front of him, a red solo cup in one hand, the other in front of him, palm out, like Keith was a dog to be calmed down. “Hey man, just making sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” Keith said in the same tone, pointedly turning back to the stars and the wooden railing.

The stranger snorted. “Yeah, and I’m the president. Okay.”

Despite his better instincts, Keith turned just enough to look at the guy. A long sleeve black top paired with ripped skinny jeans and a beanie pulled down low gave him enough of an impression that Keith didn’t bother with more than a once over. “Well, considering you’re not orange nor do you have like, a toupee, I’d say that you’re lying,” Keith replied smoothly, and to his shock, the guy _laughed_.

_Laughed_ like what Keith said was the funniest thing in the world. Rich and deep laugher, and Keith felt something tugging at his lips, and, just for tonight, allowed himself to smile. Maybe it was the date, maybe it was the cold finally numbing his senses, but Keith found himself turning towards the stranger just a little bit more.

What Keith hadn’t noticed before was the deep tan that still existed this deep into winter, or the perfect smile that the guy was attempting to hide behind a hand and a cup. The stranger was tall, not much taller than Keith, but enough that he noticed it right away.

“Wow, would not have expected that out of you,” the stranger finally said, and the barely there smile on Keith’s face grew just a tad bit more.

“Yeah, well,” Keith said, shifting his feet and peering back at him, “not a lot of people do.”

The guy laughed again, and dammit, what was he even doing out here? Someone like that, with laughter like _that_ , deserved to be inside surrounded by people funny enough to make it come out all the time.

“I’m Lance,” the guy said after he had calmed down enough.

“Keith.”

“Well Keith, what brings you out here on a cold December night?”

Keith thought, considering giving the real reason versus a pleasant lie. “My brother asked if I would come,” he said, halfway to the truth.

“Cool, cool,” the stranger—Lance—said, passing his cup from one hand to the other. “So,” he started, stretching the word out, “does that mean you’re here with anyone?”

Keith paused, taking a moment to look at Lance, the nervous body language, the almost too suave aura he presented.

“I’m not,” Keith said carefully, knowing where this was going but having enough cheap beer in his system that he really didn’t fucking care.

“Well,” said Lance, moving close enough that Keith could feel the heat radiating off of him, “it is getting awfully close to midnight.” The alcohol was clear on his breath and Keith took a step back, feeling the lack of heat almost immediately, and hating himself for doing it all over again. Distantly, he could hear as the ten second countdown begun, but he was too focused on the way Lance was leaning in, the way that too perfect smile looked and the faint laughter still in his head sounded to pay it much mind.

“Five, four, three…”

Lance’s eyes were fluttering closed and he was close, so close, and Keith couldn’t take it.

“Sorry, I don’t kiss strangers,” he said gruffly, pushing past Lance and back towards the sounds of the party inside, the opposite direction of where he wanted to be. But he couldn’t do it again, couldn’t put himself in that position once more even if so much had changed from that cold December night all those years ago.

“…two, one! Happy New Year!”

The sliding glass door opened once more, just in time for Keith to see Adam sweep Shiro into a kiss, both of them pressed against each other like they were clinging to a lifeline. He stopped dead in his tracks, that bitter feeling heavier than ever in his mouth, the guilt nowhere to be found.

“Keith!”

The voice spurred him into motion again, coming from the direction he wanted to be and spurring him in the opposite way. People were pressed tightly together, some drinking heavily, others making out heavily. Everything felt heavy.

Pidge was casually leaning against the front door as Keith stumbled towards her. “Woah dude, whatcha doin there?” she asked, perking up but managing to stumble slightly. Or was it Keith that was stumbling now?

“I’m leaving,” was the only explanation he gave as she stepped fully away from the door, watching him with round, concerned eyes.

“Did something happen?” He paused just long enough to glance over his shoulder, hear the voice still calling his name, and give her a pointed look.

Realization dawned as she pushed up her glasses with an index finger, nodding once before helping Keith out of the door and into the hallway.

His own apartment complex shouldn’t be far from here, and he wasn’t too drunk that he couldn’t walk.

People reveled in the college streets, all those that couldn’t or wouldn’t go home for the holidays. Keith should be one of them, drinking away his night like every other college student would, partying and kissing strangers and making up New Year’s resolutions that he won’t keep past January 3rd. But here he was, hands in his windbreaker’s pockets, head down and trudging back home to the apartment that was about to feel too big and still not big enough.

Keith hated pretty boys that assumed things, hated pretty boys with laughter that made him smile. Keith hated the beginning of things, because it only went to show that it would all come to an end sooner or later.

Keith hated the new year.

~~~

**January 1st, 2019**

He didn’t hear Shiro and Adam come in, but there they were, making breakfast like they both weren’t incredibly hung over. Keith plopped into the breakfast stool, head on his arms, trying to squeeze just a few more moments of rest.

The sizzling of bacon wouldn’t let him though, not when it popped and crackled and made his mouth water.

“Long night?” Shiro asked as casually as he could, and Keith popped his head up, opening just one eye.

“No, but I’m sure you had one.”

Adam choked on his coffee from somewhere to his left, and Keith allowed himself a small smirk. It had been what—two years? —since they had started dating, but no matter the amount of time that passed, Adam was still shocked over Keith knowing what happened behind closed doors.

“How was the party then?” Shiro asked, ignoring his spluttering boyfriend.

Keith felt his back stiffen, but he shrugged in response. “Just like every other college party I’ve ever been to: full of drunk idiots trying to get laid and girls not having it.”

It wasn’t a lie. Especially about the drunk idiot. That damn laughter sounded in his head again and Keith closed his eyes, picturing the accompanying smile, before quickly shoving the image out of his mind. It didn’t matter what could have been—all that existed is what did happen. And nothing happened.

They made light conversation as Shiro finished up the bacon, with Adam taking his place to make eggs. When was Keith going back to classes? What classes was he taking this semester? Oh, better watch out for that professor, Adam had him and he was wicked. Was he excited?

“Shiro, I’m a sophomore in college. I think I’m beyond being excited for the start of term. It’s college, for shits sake.”

“That is true,” Adam replied. “College kind of fucking sucks.”

“You’re a college teacher’s assistant. You will be a college professor at the end of grad school.”

Adam stuck his head through the bar window. “College. Fucking. Sucks.”

“Yeah, but if we hadn’t had college, we wouldn’t have met,” Shiro said, in that lovesick voice he reserved for Adam only.

“Hmm, that’s an even better point. Now I _really_ wish I hadn’t gone to college.”

“Hey now! I made you bacon!”

Adam’s laughter drifted through the kitchen window as Keith swooped up his plate and made a swift exit. None of that for breakfast this morning, thanks.

He sat down onto his unmade bed, shoving the comforter further towards the bottom of the bed with his foot as he balances his plate in one hand. Satisfied that there was now enough room, Keith settled back against his pillows and pulled up his course schedule on his phone.

None of them were particularly interesting, though he had heard some good things about a few of the professors. All just the required courses to get him where he wanted to be.

Keith glanced over at the poster above his desk. It was frayed around the edges and the creases had been worn in to the point where it threatened to tear, but still it hung. The words had become familiar to him, to the point where he could draw the entire thing with his eyes closed. Each and every day, one step closer to where he wanted to be. Where he would be, eventually.

_One day._

~~~

**January 8th**

Winter break was over before he knew it, and then he was trudging to an 8 am morning class in weather that did not deserve to be this hot. While he hadn’t been all over the country, he had been through enough of it to know that 80 in January was too damn hot. But the Garrison was in Arizona, so in Arizona he would be.

His schedule was mapped out on his phone, and he glanced briefly at it as he approached the low-slung building towards the edge of campus, right on the border of the reservoir. Provided this was a class above ground, Keith might be able to snag a nice view out of the window as he sat through the required material. A few other students were headed in this direction as well, and for a moment Keith almost thought he recognized one of them. But the flash of feeling was gone before he knew it, and he tucked his head down against the early morning sun as he shrugged his bag over to his other shoulder.

It was about to be a long day.

This was one of Shiro’s favorite professors, and while he raved about his teaching skills, he did warn Keith that he was a little… quirky, if he was going to quote his older brother. Keith didn’t do _quirky_. Keith didn’t do a lot of things, actually, but quirky ranked pretty high. Just teach the material and don’t be weird, alright?

He ducked under the tree in front of the building, another student holding open the door for him. He gave a gruff response, something that could have been thank you if he cared a little more, and took a deep breath in the cool AC. Two years, and Arizona was still too warm to him.

Intro to Astrophysics was supposed to be in room 11, and Keith had to stop by each and every room to find it. They were in absolutely no numerical order, so finding where he was supposed to be was a nightmare.

“Looking for room 11?” asked a smooth voice from behind him. Keith paused, one foot in front of him, and turned just enough to see who had spoken with one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” he asked, and the immediately regretted speaking when he saw who it was.

New Year’s Douche was looking at him with a small smile, one hand curled around a cheap coffee cup, the other holding a textbook. “This whole building is a mess, but 11 is the only room that actually holds classes. And you look lost enough to belong in it.” There was no hint of recognition in his face, but that didn’t mean anything. Keith couldn’t help it as he glanced over him once again. Gone was the beanie from that night, revealing windswept brown hair and meticulous eyebrows. In place of the black long sleeve was a short sleeve of the same color, and the ripped jeans were the same. His tan was even more present in the daytime, and Keith found himself begrudgingly admiring that he still looked good.

Keith must have pulled a face because NYD laughed, that same stupid fucking laugh that had been in his head since that night. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that you were stupid or anything. It’s just a running joke in the major that only dumbasses qualify for this course.”

Keith rolled his eyes, fighting back a scowl, and moved until another person could fit in the space between them. NYD seemed to know where he was going, though, so Keith was reluctantly stuck with him until they reached their classroom. Apparently, NYD must have truly fit the running joke stereotype because he didn’t notice the distance Keith had created between them, and continued to prattle on. “I’m actually really excited for this course. Math isn’t my strong suit by any stretch of the means and really, I’m only taking it because it’s required, but honestly whatever I have to do to work with the stars is chill with me. I’ve heard some, uh, interesting things about our professor though. Apparently, he’s got this wack ass accent that makes whatever he says kind of hard to take seriously, but he’s also super harsh about the course as well? I don’t know, I’m really just excited to be here.”

Room 11 _finally_ came into view and Keith could have kissed the entrance. “Alright, thanks, bye,” he muttered, and then speed walked the rest of the way into the class. NYD trailed off behind him and Keith slouched into a seat near the back, far enough away that he was out of the direct line of fire from the professor but close enough that he could still pay attention. He dug around in his bag for a notebook and a black pen, making sure to avoid eye contact to further disengage NYD from sitting next to him. It must have worked, because when the door loudly swung shut and the professor strolled into the front of the room, NYD was up near the front, chatting to a pretty girl with silver hair.

_Wow, so he isn’t a player just on New Year’s. Good to know._

“Good morning everyone!” drawled the professor, drawing out the ‘o’ in good morning like it was the cheese in a mozzarella stick. He really did have an interesting accent. “My name is Professor Coran Wimbleton III, but you can just call me Coran.” He stopped in his leisurely pacing at the front of the room, surveying the students gathered. Keith felt the distinct urge to sit up straighter and make eye contact, which he squared his jaw and ignored. No point in looking like a suck up.

“Well this won’t do at all,” he said at last, before abruptly turning on his heel and waking up the computer, which was presently projecting a seating chart onto the white board. Several students groaned, including Keith. A seating chart? In college?

“Hush, all you children. You are here to do math, why do you care where you sit?”

At this, the class silence, but no one moved to their new seats. Truthfully, Keith was still trying to find his, and then immediately wished he hadn’t.

Keith Kogane sat right next to Lance McClain.

“Chop to it!” There were a few more grumbles and groans accompanied by the scraping of chairs, but Keith sat stone still, waiting for the names to change. Maybe it wasn’t New Year’s Douche. Maybe someone else in here was named Lance, and the Lance from New Year’s was sitting somewhere else. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But maybe wasn’t in his favor, and the girl now standing by his seat gave him an expectant look until he reluctantly stood up, walking slowly towards his new seat. Lance was already in the seat next to him, and Keith looked briefly up, praying to whomever heard him that this wasn’t going to be his fate.

He slid into his seat, plopped his pen and notebook down, and stared straight ahead.

“Well, would you look at that,” muttered NYD, not unkindly. “We meet again.”

Keith ignored him.

“Hey, you know, the least you could do is say thank you. I lead you here. You would have been late otherwise.”

“I would have found it in time,” replied Keith evenly, still not looking at him.

“Wait a minute,” Lance the New Year’s Douche said suddenly. _Oh no, here it comes, play it off Kogane_. “You look familiar…”

“I have been told that I look like I belong in an emo—”

“I met you at a New Year’s party!” Lance exclaimed, and Keith felt dread growing in the pit of his stomach as the rest of the class chose that moment to fall silent. Annoyed at becoming the center of attention, Keith made a split-second decision, and turned to Lance.

“Sorry, must have been someone else,” he said in a flat tone, looking at him directly in those stupid blue eyes.

Said stupid blue eyes narrowed, and that pretty mouth opened to fire back logic that proved Keith knew him, but Coran chose that moment to save Keith’s ass.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to start class now.”

For the rest of the hour and a half block, Lance silently fumed next to him, and Keith took small pleasure in the fact that it was now him bothering Lance instead of the other way around.

At two minutes left in class, the sound of zippers could be heard, and Coran sat on his desk with a resigned sigh. “Alright, I suppose that’s it for today. I would recommend exchanging myspaces with the person next to you, or phone numbers, or kiks, or whatever you kids do these days. We will have a project coming up soon and it’s good to make friends now to see who you can tolerate for an extended period of time.”

There were the typical giggles all around from those who thought it was funny to make fun of the professor’s outdated knowledge of communication, but all Keith could think about was how much he wanted to get out of here. Lance was boring holes into the side of his face, and Keith was quite truthfully getting fed up with him.

The bell rung, and Keith was out of his seat before anyone could say another word, dodging into a deserted hallway he had spotted on his way here, narrowly missing Lance as he came blazing out of the classroom. Keith watched as he stalled, clearly looking for the boy now peering at him, and then noted with small satisfaction the way Lance’s face fell. _Shouldn’t have been a horny fuck boy_ , Keith thought, but the satisfaction was gone as soon as it came when he linked his arm through the silver haired girl’s.

He waited until the rest of the people had cleared about before stepping back into the hallway. It was only his first day in this class—no reason to make people think he was weird when he stepped out of an abandoned hallway for absolutely no reason.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, and by the time Keith got back to his shared apartment he remembered why he dreaded beginnings so much.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, having just stepped inside of the threshold, leaning against the door.

“Rough first day back?” called Adam.

“You could say that,” Keith grumbled in response, making his way over to the couch, flopping down onto it face first.

Faint footsteps padded closer to him, but Keith didn’t bother looking up from his close up view of the couch cushions. “Meet anyone nice?”

Another groan in response. “Just this dick in my astrophysics class. Met him on New Year’s Eve, and he was exactly as much of a horny asshole today as well.”

Unbeknownst to him, Adam paused where he stood, face careful. “Oh?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m gonna take a nap.”

And on that day, January 8th, Adam marked his calendar.

~~~

**January 11th**

His first week of classes was over, and Keith couldn’t be more grateful. The brief two-week break had been just long enough that he had forgotten how cruel college truly was, so being abruptly thrust back into it was knocking him off his feet. A beer in one hand and the other in a bag of chips, Keith was slumped on the couch next to Pidge as she idly flipped through one of her science magazines.

“Why is life difficult?” he asked, and Pidge snorted.

“Are you asking me that? Now?” Keith glanced over at her, only to find the small blonde peering at him over her wire rim glasses. He could only see the top of her face, but had no doubt a smirk lurked in the shadows.

“You’re right, I should probably just leave, find someone worth my time,” Keith said, starting to stand.

“Wait!” she called, catching his bluff. “I’m just tired too,” she sighed, letting her magazine flop to the side. He sat back down, snuggling further into the sofa.

“Thought so.”

Silence descended as they each went back to their own thoughts. It wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t… not awkward. Keith only knew Pidge from the one class he had shared with her last year, and if it hadn’t been for her older brother, they wouldn’t have spoken at all. Matt was as thick as thieves with Shiro, almost as close as Adam was to Shiro. Matt introduced the younger siblings, and they got along solely for their sake. Not that Pidge had anything to dislike about Keith, nor he to her, but they just weren’t close. In fact, the only reason the both of them were on this couch right now was because they were waiting for the infamous older trio to return with pizza and rented movies.

Pidge’s phone buzzed, drawing Keith out of his introspection, and they both looked toward it instinctively. She picked it up, typing her ridiculously long passcode, and the snickered when she read whatever the notification was.

As if she felt Keith’s curious-but-trying-not-to-be gaze, she said, “Just a dick of a friend of mine complaining about this dude in his astrophysics class. Overexaggerating, as always.” Keith felt a small smile tugging at his face when he thought of the dick _he_ had in _his_ astrophysics class.

“Do you insult every friend you have?” he asked, choosing not to mention how he related to her mystery friend’s problem.

“Only all of them,” she replied easily, and they both laughed at that.

Pidge might not have been a close friend, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t a good one.

The door swung open with a bang, announcing the arrival of their older siblings and friends.

“Pizza is here!”

“Bring it in, losers!”

“Hey now!”

Keith chuckled as Shiro walked in, three pizzas in hand and looking mildly offended. “I’m the one providing you all with beer and pizza. Be kind.”

“Yeah, alright,” Pidge said, snark heavy in her words.

They all settled down, cramming onto the small couch and two armchairs. Everyone continued to move and shift all the way to the start of the movie, and only halfway through did people truly settle down.

Keith heard a small noise next to him, and he glanced over just in time to see Adam press a kiss to the underside of Shiro’s jaw. That same bitter taste made itself known, and Keith hated the way he felt when he watched the pair of them. It was a long moment before he was able to pull his eyes away, only to meet Pidge’s immediately after.

She gazed at him, glasses flashing with the glare of television in the dark room, expression unreadable. He squirmed, hating the way she studied him, and even if Keith couldn’t read her face, he had a feeling she knew exactly what lurked beneath. Eventually, she pushed her glasses up with one slim index finger, and turned back to the movie.

Keith tried to watch it, tried to follow the plot—he really did—but he couldn’t. Not with all that was spinning around in his head.

When the movie ended, and Keith was back in his own bed, he stared at his blank wall until the sun brimmed on the horizon, feeling emptier than he had in quite some time.

~~~

**January 17th**

It started the next time they had class. The subtle glances Lance would throw his way, followed by the one-up-man-ship Lance seemed so keen on employing. Always finding a way to improve whatever answer Keith gave in class. Always one to prove that he knew what he was talking about. Always one to not so subtly exclaim about how well he had done on a quiz or assignment. Keith bristled every time he did it, until Keith found himself doing it right back. Before long (well, 6 class periods to be exact, counting the first day of class), they were in a full out rivalry. Every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, Lance made sure to be better than Keith (not that he ever was), score higher than Keith (not that he ever did), and frankly, just be an ass. Keith had started wearing hoodies to class, pulling them up over his head and blocking out whatever view of Lance there was. Coran didn’t seem to care—part of his quirky thing, Keith assumed—so Keith wore the same old red hoodie every day.

Even in the Arizona heat.

Today, he had to stay after to go over something with Coran. Math had never been a strong suit for him, and while he wasn’t doing terribly, some of the theories just weren’t clicking for him. Coran had patiently explained them, and while some were still as clear as mud, Keith was feeling slightly better about the whole thing.

Until he walked out of the classroom.

Lance was leaning on the opposite wall, still sipping from the cheap coffee cup he carried every day to class, leisurely lying in wait.

He popped up as soon as the door had closed behind Keith, and Keith had half a mind to turn on his heel and ask Coran for more help, just to avoid this douche.

Instead, he picked up his pace, tugged his hoodie up, pulled out his phone, and set off. Lance easily met his pace, strolling along at ease next to him.

“Sup mullet.” Keith scowled, annoyed at Lance for having caught his attention. Lance, oblivious to everything but himself, kept talking. “Can I call you that? Mullet? Cause I’m gonna call you that. Cause you have a mullet. Which, hun, should have stayed in the past. No reason to bring it back.”

Keith reached up, touching his hair lightly, scowl deepening and annoyance brimming. “It’s not a fucking mullet.”

Lance slowed just enough, side eyeing him. “Uh huh.”

“Are you here just to bother me? Because if you are, I have places to be.” A lie.

“What’s your deal man?”

Keith was so surprised that he stopped in his tracks. “What’s my deal?” he echoed back.

“Yeah. Why are you such a dick to me?”

Keith couldn’t help it; he laughed. Lance’s face gave a twinge which only caused him to laugh harder. “Wow, didn’t know you could be funny.”

“I’m being serious.”

Keith laughed so hard he felt pains in his side. “That’s rich,” he replied when he finally had his breath back. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta go.”

He didn’t make it four steps before Lance was right there beside him once more, matching him in stride. “You’ve been a dick to me since day one. I just want to know what I did.”

“You want to know what you did?” Keith asked, echoing his words once more. “You were a horny asshole. I don’t do that. Sorry, but first impressions matter.”

“Are you talking about New Year’s Eve?” This time, it was Lance that had halted, and despite himself, Keith halted too. _Oh no. This was heading somewhere dangerous._

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t you claim not to remember that? Let alone know me?”

Keith fought the rising heat in his cheeks. “Yeah,” he repeated, lacking the conviction he had held the first time.

Lance blinked once, twice. “You’re being a dick,” he said slowly, “all because I tried to kiss you on New Year’s Eve?”

Okay, once he was being called out on it, Keith realized he may have been overreacting just a tad. But he wasn’t one to go back, so he clenched his jaw, and said for a third time, “yeah.”

Lance studied him, face inscrutable, and then nodded. “Well I guess that solves that mystery.” His stance had shifted, along with the air around them.

Keith shifted, clenching his jaw even tighter. Something was stirring in his abdomen, and Keith no longer wanted to be here. “I’ve… I’ve gotta go now.”

“Yeah, alright,” Lance replied, unusually somber—a drastic difference from the normally bubbly personality he exuded.

Keith turned on his heel, and walked all the way back to his apartment in silence, something akin to guilt following in his wake.

~~~

**January 22nd**

His alarm clock was going off, and Keith slapped at his phone with one hand, willing it to shut the fuck up. He finally managed to hit either the snooze or the off button—it didn’t really matter which—so long as that sound was off.

Groaning, he attempted to sit up only to collapse back onto his bed when his head gave a single, violent throb that lessened into a dull ache the minute his head reconnected with the pillow.

The smell of bacon wafted in through the crack in the bedroom door, and Keith shifted on his bed, breathing it in. It wasn’t long before his stomach lurched, the only warning he got before he was bolting upright and dashing over to the trashcan next to his desk, throwing up whatever was left in his stomach from dinner the night before.

Tears ran down his face and his skull ached, a second wave of nausea hitting at just the right moment to make him vomit a second time.

Only once he was sure there was nothing left for him to throw up did Keith lean back. Standing up on wobbly legs, Keith took his trashcan in one hand and used the other to cover his nose as he pushed his way into their shared bathroom and dumped the contents of the trashcan into the toilet. Scraps of paper and little bits of plastic floated at the top, and Keith was only mildly shameful when he flushed it all down the drain. None of it came back up, and Keith only swayed once as he made his way back to the kitchen he had just passed through.

Shiro was at the stove, and only took one look at him before pointing a single finger back to Keith’s bedroom. He opened his mouth to protest just as another pang split through his head, and then nodded, conceding.

His phone alarm was going off again—damn, he had pressed snooze—and he made sure to turn it fully off this time. It was only then that he noticed it was a Tuesday; he had Coran’s class today. Briefly, he wondered just how badly his head was hurting him, and the returning wave of nausea was the only thing that kept him from getting dressed.

Slumping down onto his bed, he pulled the covers back up to his chin, his eyes already fluttering shut when Shiro stuck his head in the door.

“You’ve got Coran’s class today, right?” he asked softly.

Keith nodded.

“I’ll send him an email and let him know you’re sick. Want me to ask if he’ll send someone by with your work?”

Keith nodded again, the fever he was sure he had letting him make stupid decisions. Later, Keith would look back on this day as the day he really should have gone to class because what came after was worse than any kind of sick hell, but for now, he was warm and sick and all he wanted to do was sleep.

The door clicked shut, and Keith lapsed into sleep.

~~~

What woke him next wasn’t the need to vomit or another painful spasm through his head, but instead a persistent knocking that was only growing harder and more frantic as the seconds passed.

Keith bolted up, automatically fearing the worst as he stumbled out of his bedroom, mind running with possibilities of what could lead to knocking this frantic.

He didn’t even bother to check through the peephole before yanking open the door, heart in his throat and palms clammy from something other than a fever.

On the other side stood Lance.

Wearing a shiteating grin.

The moment Keith’s heart had returned to where it belonged, he slammed the door shut. Well, that’s what _should_ have happened. A slim foot was placed into the door, preventing it from being fully shut and accompanied by an outcry of pain.

“Hey, what the hell!”

The door swung back open, and gone was the shiteating grin. Lance’s eyes were blazing, and his one free hand was balled into a fist. The other was clutching a brown paper bag, wrinkling under his grip.

“I should be asking you that,” Keith drawled, trying to close the door shut once more. “What kind of asshole knocks like that?” _You had me scared._

Lance opened his mouth to reply, and then wormed into a thin line as he held something back. Keith waited, crossing his arms as he fought back another wave of nausea.

“I’ve got your homework,” he said at last, thrusting forward the paper bag.

“What?” Keith replied, demonstrating his sheer intelligence.

“Your homework.” Lance raised one of his perfect brows. “From Coran’s class? Apparently, a former student of his called in a favor and asked someone from the class to bring it to you today.”

“And you volunteered?” he asked, still trying to wrap his head around what was actually happening. God, what he would do for some painkillers right now.

Lance shifted uncomfortably, clearly not willing to give an answer.

“Whatever, doesn’t matter, just give it to me.” Keith stepped forward, rocking slightly—damn how sick was he—and accepted the bag that Lance had been holding out for the last minute. “Jesus, did Coran send me a bible’s worth of paper?”

A small grin tugged at Lance’s mouth. “That would be chicken soup. There’s a packet he gave us in class, plus a list of this week’s readings. The chicken soup is from me.”

Keith had opened the bag while he was talking, finding everything Lance had described to him in there. The chicken soup was in a small thermos, and Keith looked up, more confused than ever.

“You brought me soup?”

The tips of Lance’s ears were tinged pink, and he nodded. “It’s uh, it’s something my mom swears by.”

“Why?”

The grin disappeared. “Look man, if you don’t want it, I’d be more than happy to take it back—”

“I want it,” Keith cut in, clutching the bag to his chest. “I just want to know why.”

“Being sick sucks,” Lance said simply.

Keith glanced down into the bag again, head swimming. He was utterly confused, his head hurt, and he was pretty sure his fever had topped 100.

Which is why he uttered his next two words. “I’m sorry.”

Lance had turned away, beginning to make his way down the hall; Keith heard his footsteps pause.

“What?”

“For being a dick,” he mumbled, “to you in class.” He refused to apologize for what happened on New Year’s Eve.

He could feel Lance looking at him for a long moment, and Keith met his gaze after a beat.

“I accept,” he said at last.

Keith wasn’t sure why he felt as relieved as he did. Maybe he needed to throw up again.

Awkward silence settled over them. “Thanks for the soup and the work,” Keith said lamely.

“Not a problem.”

“You really didn’t have to do that you know.”

“It was the right thing to do.”

More awkward silence.

“Well anyways—”

“I should probably—”

They watched each other, stiff at having spoken at the same time. Lance was the one to break it.

“I’ve gotta go. More hell to sit through.” His words were followed with a flash of a smile, gone before it was there.

“Thanks again for this,” Keith said, moving to shut the door.

It was almost closed when Lance jammed his foot into a third time, and Keith could have sworn there was a small yelp of pain.

“One more thing,” Lance said through tight lips, clearly trying to mask the hurt he felt. “I left my number on the top of the packet.” Keith pulled a face, and Lance was quick to explain, grimace morphing into embarrassment. “Not for anything good! Or well, no, that’s wrong. What I’m trying to say is what we covered in class today was kinda difficult, so I left it there in case you wanted any help. Not cause I’m trying to be friends or anything since you _clearly_ hate me so.” An off-beat laugh, nothing at all like the one from New Year’s. “You know what? I’m gonna leave now.”

He was gone before Keith had a chance to process all of his words, softly pulling the door closed behind him.

The smell of soup had finally reached his nose, and instead of turning his stomach like the bacon had this morning, Keith took a deep inhale, actually feeling _hungry._

Pulling out a spoon from the utensil drawer, Keith settled down at the breakfast bar, flipping through the packets and papers as he swallowed spoonful after spoonful of soup that could only be described as heaven sent.

Lance’s number was indeed up at the top of the page, and Keith looked at it for a long moment, before shoveling another spoonful into his mouth.

That was a dilemma for another day.

~~~

**January 23rd**

Keith trudged into class the next morning, feeling like shit but marginally better shit. Lance was already there, and did a double take when he watched Keith walk in.

“Feeling better already?” he asked dubiously.

“Better enough,” Keith replied with a shrug.

He settled down in his seat, and it was only when Coran walked in and was about to start class that Keith folded up a note, and flicked it over at Lance.

It hit him right on the corner of his eye, and Lance knocked back, shooting Keith a furious glance.

_Read it_ , Keith mouthed.

Lance furrowed his brows but did unfold the note and appeared to read it. His expression didn’t change as he wrote a reply, and the carefully placed it on the corner of Keith’s desk.

**Thanks for the soup**

_No problem_

Lance only tried to outdo him twice that day.

Keith only hit him with another square of paper once.

~~~

**January 25th**

Before he knew it, it was the last Friday in January, the month having passed in a blur of classes and late nights of homework and stress. He had fallen into a routine without meaning to, and did a double take when he looked at his calendar. Fuck, January was almost over. Normally this month snailed by; never before had it passed as quickly as this.

Keith felt the familiar stirrings of anxiety in his gut that always came when he thought about how much time he had wasted, how much he took for granted.

“Knock knock,” said Shiro, followed by him actually knocking on Keith’s door. Keith turned, startled from his thoughts, only to wish he never had eyes in the first place.

Shiro had eyeliner on and was dressed in a form fitting black shirt, that one pair of jeans that always hugged his ass perfectly doing just that. God, how someone could look like that and not know what it did to people…

“What’s up?” he asked, hating the way his voice cracked.

Either Shiro didn’t notice or he didn’t care; moving into Keith’s room, he stopped in front of his dresser, pulling open the top drawer and rooting through it.

“Uhhhhh…”

“We’re going to a party tonight,” Shiro said, the only explanation he had given thus far.

“And why are you rooting through my drawers?” Keith asked, a small panic blossoming in him as Shiro moved to the one below it. _Don’t go any farther than that one, please God._

“To find you something decent to wear,” Shiro said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. With a huff, he closed drawer number two and began to open number three when Keith launched from where he was in order to push a hand against it, ensuring Shiro was not going to open that one.

“I can do that on my own, thanks,” he said gruffly, and Shiro backed up, hand and prosthetic raised.

“Woah there, got something to hide?”

Keith felt his face grow warm. “No.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“How about I pick something out, and you judge it?” he said quickly, attempting to divert the conversation away from what he was hiding in his drawers. Shiro looked skeptical. Keith amended his statement. “Okay, if you don’t like the first three options, then you can pick something out, how about that?”

His older brother grinned. “Sounds like a plan, little man.”

Shiro made his way out, closing the door behind him. “I’m not a little man,” he muttered, only once the door was closed.

30 minutes later, they were pulling up to one of the largest frat houses on campus. Shockingly, Shiro had liked the first option Keith had put on, and heard none of his protests when Keith tried to change out of it. The first outfit had been a _joke_ and certainly not something he actually wanted to wear. But here he was, wearing it, and regretting so many decisions. He tugged at the sleeve of his top, wishing it wasn’t so tight. He had ended up in a tight red V-neck, with black skinny jeans that really could have passed for leggings. Half his hair was up in top knot, the other half hanging loosely around his shoulders.

They piled out of Adam’s convertible, and Keith tried to sneak in the other direction before Shiro caught his upper arm and hauled him back. “Not tonight,” he said cheerfully as Keith growled at him.

Shiro’s face softened into something almost sad, and the grip on Keith’s arm loosened. “I’m just trying to get you out there. I know your first year wasn’t great, but I’m trying to make up for it.”

There was that guilty, bitter taste again. Why couldn’t he ever say no to Shiro?

“I’ll be here for an hour and then I’m leaving.”

A small smile. “That’s all I ask.”

The music hit his ears before anything else, and he grimaced as they made their way inside. Instantly, Adam and Shiro were absorbed into the crowd, leaving Keith to make his own path through it.

Hands grabbed at him and he roughly shoved them off, looking for the stairs into the basement. This wasn’t his first party here, and it more than likely wouldn’t be his last. The stoner kids hung out down there, all high to get away from the pressures of being here, at the Garrison, even if just for a little while. It was one of the top schools in the country and the top school for aerospace careers. The intensity got to a lot of people.

Just like he predicted, the minute he stumbled down the last step to the basement, the smell of weed hit him. It wasn’t as bad as it used to be, but it was still disgusting.

“Keith!”

He turned towards the sound of his name, positive it wasn’t him people were looking for, and then groaned when he realized yes, it was him people were looking for.

There sat Pidge, her small frame dwarfed by the athletes on either side of her, completely dominating at Mario Kart. How she had even seen him without taking her eyes off the screen was beyond him.

“Come join us!”

A quick survey around told him that she was probably the best option that he had, and he made his way slowly over to where she was.

“I’ve got next game,” he said, just loud enough to be heard without shouting.

“Gladly,” one of the dudes muttered, and Keith watched Pidge’s reflection in the screen grin.

The race ended (Pidge in first, of course), and Keith slid over the back of the couch into the freshly opened seat, snagging the remote before he crushed it with his butt.

“Ooh, I wanna play!”

Keith froze. He knew that voice. And so did Pidge.

“Lance! Hey man, I’m glad you could make it.”

“Yeah, me too. I’ve been here for a while, had to get away from the crowd upstairs. It was starting to get…” Lance’s words trailed off as he spotted Keith.

Silence—too loud for the environment they were in—echoed in their small space.

Pidge made the connection first. “Oh my God.” Both Lance and Keith looked to her as she squealed happily. “Oh my God! You know Keith! Is Keith astrophysics dick?”

Both of them gaped at her before Keith whirled on Lance.

“I’m astrophysics dick?!” he cried indignantly, feeling madder than he really had any right to feel.

“In my defense, you are a dick!”

“You brought me soup!”

“You thanked me by hitting me in the face!”

“With a paper note! There’s no way that hurt!”

Lance spluttered at him, the game of Mario Kart long forgotten.

“I’m too sober for this,” Keith said at last, pushing roughly past Lance and hauling ass in the direction he knew the bar was. Yeah, he and Lance were most definitely not friends, and while enemies was too strong of a word, they had learned to be civil to each other. He thought the soup thing had changed something for them, had them come to some kind of an understanding. But all Lance really was, was a douche from a New Year’s Eve party that didn’t know how to act and most certainly didn’t deserve any sort of thought. Hell, he had just been happy that his morning class had become slightly less tense. If it wasn’t a requirement, he might have dropped it right then and there just to be done with that asshole.

He was still simmering by the time he had made it into the kitchen, pouring himself a cupful of whatever was closest. He was about to tip it back when a slender hand caught his wrist. Keith froze, his eyes tracing the line of an arm all the way up to a shoulder that blended seamlessly into a neck beneath a close-fitting blue shirt, travelling all the way up to the blue eyes that seemed to shine just a bit brighter tonight.

“Get your hand off me,” Keith said in a low voice, jaw tensing.

Lance’s hand didn’t move. “Do you even know what you’re about to drink?”

“Doesn’t matter to me, shouldn’t matter to you.”

“You’ve got a cup full of Nunvil. That shit’ll fuck you up faster than any other drink, and it burns all the way down.”

Keith looked into his cup, considering. “Maybe I like the burn,” he said, and the hand on his wrist tightened, just barely, before loosening to what it had been a moment before.

“Fine. It’s your body. Excuse me for caring.”

Keith rolled his eyes, moving the cup away from his face. “Oh yeah, like you care so much about me. What the fuck are you even doing here?”

He didn’t have to see Lance’s face to know how deep the comment stung; he could feel it as Lance finally released his wrist.

“You’re right. What am I doing here?” he asked in a hard voice. Keith expected him to turn on his heel and stalk away, maybe find the pretty girl with the silver hair Lance hung off of after every class. But there he stood, considering Keith with those stupid blue eyes.

Now, Keith had two options. He knew what the smarter one was: walk away, dump the cup out, and leave. Surely his hour here was up by now. The other one was to down this entire thing without breaking eye contact the whole time and show Lance that he truly could not give less of a fuck about him.

We should all know which one Keith chose.

He was one swallow in when he choked, the Nunvil doing exactly what Lance said it would do, and he coughed, Nunvil shooting out of his throat as he spluttered, one hand up to his mouth and the other tipped back, letting the horrific drink spill onto the kitchen floor.

Someone was pounding his back insistently, and Keith was grateful for it. His eyes were leaking and everything _burned_. God, what the actual fuck was this drink?

When he was finally done coughing, he held up his free hand and the one on his back stopped. “I told you,” growled a low voice, and Keith was too exhausted from the ordeal to shove it off.

Lance was watching him carefully when he finally managed to open his eyes and get his bearings. “You’re an absolute idiot,” he deadpanned.

“One of a kind,” Keith shot back, and dammit, he shouldn’t have said that.

Because Lance _laughed_. That same, stupid fucking laugh that he had so proudly exhibited on New Year’s, the same stupid way he covered his mouth with his hand as if he was embarrassed about it, the same stupid sound that had Keith’s heart skipping a beat.

“Why do you do that?” Keith asked before he could stop himself.

Lance’s laughter stopped instantly. “Do what?”

“Cover your mouth when you laugh.”

The taller boy squirmed, looking rather uncomfortable at the question. “Just a thing I picked up as a kid,” was the only explanation he offered.

Keith considered pressing him for more details, but Lance didn’t look willing to share. “You’ve got a nice laugh,” was what Keith said instead.

_Hey? Brain? What the fuck? We're not even drunk, why in the hell are these words coming out of my mouth?_

“You’ve got a nice smile,” Lance replied, and then looked mortified at having said so.

They stood there, each in his own head yelling at themselves for saying something so stupid to the person they supposedly didn’t like.

Keith watched him from the side of his eye, trying (and failing) not to look like he was actually studying Lance. Keith wasn’t sure when, or how, or why, but somewhere in the month, Lance had gone from being New Year’s Douche, to, well, just Lance. And after the soup thing, Keith had stopped thinking of him as the dick from astrophysics that constantly one-upped him. He was just someone in his class. That sat next to him. And had stupid blue eyes.

_Wow, a lot of things are stupid tonight, aren’t they?_

“Do you really think of me as the dick from your astrophysics class?” Keith asked, to which Lance shrugged.

“At first, yeah. You were rude and standoffish to me for quite literally no reason, and you were a know-it-all. You gave me plenty of reasons to dislike you.”

“And now?”

“Well, before these like, past 30 minutes, you weren’t anyone more than someone in my class.” Lance shuffled his feet, but didn’t break eye contact. “And I had hoped, for whatever reason, that we could move past it and be friends.”

“Why?”

“Well you’re just full of questions.” Both of them chuckled at that, and Keith waited to see if it would be answered. It did. “I don’t really know, you just struck me as someone I wanted to know better. You’re…”

“Mysterious?” Keith finished for him, struggling not to feel annoyed. Wouldn’t be the first time someone wanted to be his friend, just because of the ‘mysterious appeal’ he held. Bullshit.

“I was going to say interesting. Like you know a lot more than you put on, and you want more than you could ever say. You stare out of the window all the time, and the first night we met, you had your eyes to the sky, watching the stars. You want more than you can have, but don’t want what’s right in front of you. You’re interesting.”

It should have been an insult, really, it should have. But Keith found himself drawn in by Lance’s words; it was more than he had ever spoken at once without putting a true insult in there. It was like a switch had been flipped in him; suddenly, the desire to punch Lance was gone. In its place… Keith found himself wanting to know this tan boy just a little bit more. And Keith—fuck, was he really actually entirely sober right now?—held a hand out.

Lance looked down at it, and then flicked his eyes back up to Keith’s.

“I’m Keith,” Keith said, holding his hand out a little more.

“Lance,” the other boy replied smoothly, taking it and shaking it. Briefly, thought he might bring it up and press a kiss to his knuckles, and found himself in an odd state when Lance didn’t. He didn’t actually want Lance to do that.

It was weird, in a way, for this to be happening. Keith had set out to despise this dude, for coming on too strongly and for being as he was. But life had a funny way of doing things (like making Lance take soup to him for no logical reason), and Keith found himself laughing as they stood together in the kitchen, long after his required hour was up.

~~~

**January 28th**

Keith had his phone in his hands, fingers stalling over the keyboard. Did he really want to do this?

A number was typed in at the top, and Keith looked at it for a long moment, before slowly typing out his message, something fluttering in his stomach. Ugh, he hated this. The nervousness. If he had it his way, he wouldn’t talk to anyone other than Shiro and maybe Adam. He didn’t like the beginnings of things.

But there he was, typing out a message, and hitting send before he had a chance to change his mind.

**hey. it’s keith. do you wanna study with me later? Coran mentioned a quiz coming up.**

_Sure :) just let me know when and where, I’ll be there_

Keith set down his phone, not wanting to look at it any longer, blowing out a slow breath of air.

He had a study session with Lance.

 


	2. February

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all starts with a shitty study meeting (not date, definitely not date), that somehow turns into Keith spending Valentines Day with Lance. He's not sure how it happened either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello all!! i'm back!! here's chapter 2, full of situations that had me cringing with second hand embarrassment as I wrote them. I sincerely hope you all enjoy, and comments and kudos make my whole day <3

**February 1 st**

Keith groaned as his phone buzzed next to him, rousing him from a dream. The edges of it still clung in his mind, and he frowned, eyes still closed, trying to piece together what the rest of it had been. Something about a ski lodge and a competition, and Keith not knowing how to snowboard. But that didn’t make any sense, because he hadn’t been up to Colorado since he was eight, and even then, he could snow board.

The repeated buzzing from his phone drew his attention once more, and he squinted at it, eyes still attempting to adjust to the bright light now six inches from his face.

He scanned his notifications quickly, mind not lingering on any of them. His phone—or rather, the person at the end—seemed to sense his lack of attention, and another notification buzzed in, the name pulsing at the top of his screen.

_Lance (astrophysics dick)_

_6 new messages_

“Fuck,” Keith uttered. Why so many messages? Why so early?

He looked at the name, and another message popped in. He ignored the new notification, simply staring at his phone, thinking.

Their study session had been on Monday. Keith had been worried about it ever since he had sent that text, but Lance seemed chill and receptive. Which then made Keith wonder why he had been nervous at all. There was no reason for him to be nervous, right?

So why had he been nervous?

Keith picked the location and the time, which should have been comforting. He could pick somewhere he was familiar with, somewhere he knew well enough that Lance wouldn’t end up catching him off guard. It should have made Keith feel relaxed. But it didn’t.

Lance had shown up on time, wearing those same skinny jeans, although he had paired it with a baseball tee and a green jacket. A wind had blown through, and the campus was just on the edge of ‘too chilly for short sleeves alone’, so it wasn’t like the jacket was out of place. Keith was still in his red hoodie, though his repeated wearing had dulled it into almost a maroon.

After that…

In real time, away from his memories, Keith groaned when he thought about what came next.

It was _awkward._ Perhaps the most awkward situation Keith had ever been in, and he’d been in quite a few awkward situations. It was the nature of growing up ‘bent’, as a few of his foster fathers had called it. ‘Bent’ meant that other kids were nice and even, and Keith was the fault of the ones with a few bumps in their rods.

But the study session with Lance… that nearly took the crown.

Keith was a minimalist, and Lance was… not. While the former only had the necessary textbook, a beaten-up notebook, and a pen, Lance had a highlighter in every color known to man, approximately 80 different shades of sticky notes, and three notebooks, with no textbook in sight. “I figured only one of us would need a textbook,” Lance had said when Keith stared at his assortment of items, Lance unperturbed by his gaze.

“Yeah,” Keith had said, at a loss for anything else to say. They sat, each waiting for the other to say something, when Keith cleared his throat. “How about we get started?”

It soon became clear that neither of them had any idea what to do in this situation. Keith, having only ever studied with Pidge, figured they would be reading on their own and then going over what they didn’t know when problems arose. Lance, on the other hand, seemed keen on reading _together,_ and figuring out what they didn’t know by comparison, and then reviewing that.

Considering they only had the one textbook ( _Keith’s_ textbook, he would assure you very adamantly), Lance’s strategy would be the one to play out.

Keith was dubious about how much they would be able to help each other, but Lance was surprisingly knowledgeable about some of the areas that Keith was struggling in, and vice versa. It should have worked well.

Keith cringed when he got to remembering the next part.

Because Lance had decided they would each work through some practice problems, and then reconvene when they each had solved them, or needed help. Quiet studying, working through things, that was what Keith excelled in. But Lance fidgeted in the silence, quietly murmuring to himself, occasionally tapping his pencil on the table. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just strange between them. And then:

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Why do you care?” Keith snapped back instantly, not really thinking about what he was saying, frustrated by the problem he was working on. He glanced up when Lance didn’t say anything, only to find the other boy staring at him with narrowed eyes and a guarded look.

“I thought this whole thing was starting over, trying to be friends or some shit,” Lance replied, his tone just as harsh.

Keith looked back at him, anger bubbling. “I thought we were studying, Lance. For the quiz?”

“You don’t have to study in dead silence.”

“Well maybe I like to study that way.”

“Excuse me for asking a simple fucking question.”

“You’re excused.”

Ocean blue became the color of ice in that instant, and Keith glared right back at him. He thought Lance was going to fire back another sharp retort, but his mouth just folded into a tight line. “You’re right. We are just here to study, as nothing more than friendly acquaintances. That was the deal.”

And then he turned back to his notebook, picked up yet another different colored highlighter, and went back to work. It was a full beat before Keith did the same, the response somehow stinging any more than any of the insults the pair had tossed between them.

The air between them settled, thick and heavy just like it had been before the party, in the space between soup and Mario Kart. _Awkward._ They each worked in silence before Lance was the first to break

A quiet cough, and then, “What’d you get for number three?”

“A.”

“Yeah, me too.”

The rest of the hour and a half had gone like that: the occasional question, the definitely _wrong_ air.

Keith was glad when it was over.

When his timer beeped, signaling to him that he needed to go now in order to make it back in time for dinner with Shiro, Keith and Lance had stood up at the same time, the pair looking at each other but not _really_ looking at each other. Looking over each other’s shoulders almost.

“So, uh,” Lance said, clearing his throat. “I guess I’ll see you around sometime?”

“We’ve got class together three times a week, Lance.”

Lance chuckled, harsh and forced. “Oh, yeah, right, right.”

Keith thought it would be rude to check his phone again for the time, still standing here with Lance. Neither of them knew what to say, and Keith certainly wasn’t about to break the silence. He had done enough by offering the invitation of a study date in the first place.

"Well, uh, bye? I guess?” Lance’s statement came out as a question, and he visibly cringed the minute the words came out of his mouth. But it gave Keith a good excuse to leave, which he hastily took with a muttered, “see ya,” and then high tailed it out of the overlook to the lake, not slowing down until his sides heaved and he was leaning on the inside of his apartment door.

God, why was he such an idiot?

It was a _study session._ Not a goddamn date. Keith sighed, his phone buzzing _again_ in his hand. Whatever it had been, it had not gone well, and Keith wasn’t keen on repeating the experience soon. Actually, ever. Since Monday, he had adamantly been dodging all of Lance’s attempts to talk to him before, during, or after class. Text messages were answered with a one-word reply, maybe two if necessary. The whole thing—starting over, shaking hands, wanting to see if a friendship could build—it was all stupid.

Keith was the stupid one for thinking it would have been anything else.

“Ugh, fuck  _off_ Lance,” he said, sliding open the message bar and opening his messages. He was up to nine now.

_hey uh_

_I know it’s like, early or whatever but I really need your help_

_I totally trashed a quiz on tuesday and coran said he would let me retake it but Ive gotta do it today_

_and I was like yeah chill no problem, I’ll just get allura to review it with me_

Keith paused. Was Allura the silver headed beauty that Lance hung off of?

_but allura is stuck at her ‘prestigious internship that I worked my ass off for lance’ which like, she did, but rude_

_and I genuinely have no idea what I’m doing otherwise I’d totally leave you alone (still cringing from Monday oops) but I really really need your help_

_so like, quiz at 3, need to know asap before I start to cry from stress_

_hello?_

_it’s totally fine if you say no but like, I’d really appreciate it man_

The gray typing bubbles popped up, signaling that Lance was about to send him yet another text, and Keith swore again. He knew the quiz that Lance was referring to. It was actually on something Keith understood fairly well, but it was tricky even for him. At one point, he had looked over and Lance had one hand fisted in his hair and the other clutching his pencil so tightly that Keith thought he was about to snap it in half. Lance had been the last one to turn in the quiz, and Keith had felt a pang of…something, for him.

He reread the texts, trying to remember if Lance talked to anyone else in that class, and whether or not Keith could pawn him off on them. For being the social creature that he seemed to be, Lance really didn’t interact with anyone else, other than him and Allura.

He really was stuck.

His fingers stalled over the keyboard, his mind drawing a blank on the best way to phrase it. He could always say no, and just hope that Lance would be fine on his own. YouTube existed after all.

They weren’t friends. They had a weird but mutual understanding, and there had been that party interaction where neither of them was quite sober, but that didn’t really count, did it?

_Lance brought you soup,_ a nagging little voice that sounded a lot like Shiro’s reminded him.

_It wasn’t even good soup,_ he told it.

_Yes, it was._

_Fuck you,_ he responded, typing out a quick and short message to Lance.

**Where and when.**

The gray bubbles popped up immediately, and then after a heartbeat, disappeared again. Keith waited, watching to see if they would return, wondering why he was curious at all. Eventually, a response came through, and Keith stared at it for far longer than he really needed to.

_Great! Library at noon? I’ll bring snacks_

~~~

Keith glanced down at his phone, standing in the entrance well of the library. _Library at noon._ Real specific, Lance.

Garrison University’s library was massive. Three stories, it presided in the heart of campus, surrounded by all of the dusty old buildings that housed classes. But the library stood apart from the rest of campus, with it’s towering windows and sleek design. On the outside, it was the epitome of moderness, but on the inside, it felt like the library out of Beauty and the Beast, well lit and homey.

But it was still fucking massive, and ‘library at noon’ gave Keith no indication of where he was supposed to meet Lance.

He stood there for another minute before huffing, stowing his phone in his pocket and making his way back towards the exit. This had been a stupid idea. Lance was setting him up to get back for the disaster on Monday. Keith had better things to do, there was no use wasting his time—

“Hey! You made it!”

Lance’s voice stopped him dead in his tracks, and Keith attempted to school the surprise off of his face when he turned around. Lance was there, right behind him, messenger bag slung over one shoulder, cups of the cheap school coffee in each hand. Keith nodded at him, willing his temper to cool down.

Lance smiled brightly at him, but his expression faltered the longer the two boys stood facing each other.

“You weren’t about to leave, were you?” Lance asked, voice tinged with hurt.

“No!” Keith lied, earning him more than one _shush_ from other library patrons at his sudden outburst. “Of course not. I just had bad signal where I was, and I was going to go outside and try and call you to see where you were,” he finished lamely, Lance’s expression souring with every word he spoke. God, why was he trying so hard? Lance and him didn’t even like each other.

“Yeah, okay,” Lance replied, and then stepped toward Keith, holding out one coffee. Keith accepted it without a word. Lance spun on his heel, one hand now free, which he promptly shoved into his jacket pocket. Setting off at a quick pace, Keith had to do double time to keep up with him.

“I like to sit up in this little corner up on the third floor,” Lance said, pointing over towards the elevators. “The sunlight hits just right and there’s not usually a bunch of people there.”

Keith sipped at his coffee to hold back the reply that waited on the tip of his tongue, something along the lines of ‘I thought you liked showing off’.

Lance pressed the button for the elevator and they waited, Keith taking another sip of his coffee. “Hey, this stuff is actually good,” he said, holding it away from his face to make sure that he was actually drinking the school coffee.

Lance smirked. “I know a girl. She always hooks me up with the good stuff.”

Keith took another sip, wondering if the bitter taste had been there before. “How’d you know I like black coffee?” Keith asked as they stepped inside the elevator that had arrived when he had been drinking.

Lance shrugged. “You seem like the type.” Keith glanced over at him, his relaxed posture, nonchalant grip around his own coffee cup that he had yet to take a sip out of. “And it’s like, my special skill, being able to correctly guess anyone’s coffee flavors.”

“That can’t be real.”

“I assure you, it is. It’s how I picked up my first three girlfriends. I correctly guessed their favorite kind of coffee and they had no choice but to swoon right there in my arms over how amazing I was.”

Keith glanced over at him again, dubious. Lance was facing the elevator doors, but turned when he felt Keith’s eyes on him, that self-confident smirk on his face. “You’re lying.”

"I promise you, sweetheart, I’m not,” Lance replied easily, and Keith took another sip of his coffee.

Damn, this stuff really was good.

It only made him more annoyed.

Lance led them to the spot he had been describing, his idle chatter fading as they neared it. It really was exactly like Lance had described: in a corner spot, the table tucked so that no matter where you sat you got a fair amount of sunshine, hidden in the stacks so no one would easily find you. Exactly the type of spot Keith would have picked.

Lance set his bag down, and then met Keith’s eyes. “What’s up with your face?”

"It’s just not,” Keith shook his head, trying to make the words work, “not the type of spot I would have guessed you’d pick.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Thanks, man. Means a lot.”

"I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” Keith said, mirroring the other boy’s actions by setting his own bag and coffee cup down. “Just a strange one.”

Lance studied him for a moment longer, as if trying to weigh how truthful his answer was, before sitting down on one side of the table. Keith followed suit, and waited for Lance to take the lead.

This time, instead of his multitude of highlighters and notebooks, he only pulled out four colors, and one notebook. Still no textbook in sight.

“Uh, Lance?”

“Yeah?”

“Where’s your textbook?”

Lance looked down at the table, fiddling with one of his highlighters by uncapping and then recapping it. When Lance remained silent, Keith didn’t think he’d get a response, but then all of it came flooding out in a rush.

“Okay listen, I truthfully didn’t think I’d need the book because when my sister took this class, she said Coran never used it so I figured, eh, I’ll just take her copy, and it’ll be fine cause I’ll have it but I won’t need it. And then my bed broke, like, way back at the beginning of the year and I had a textbook propped up back there that was just the right size that it _worked_ and I didn’t need to call maintenance and spend like $500 getting my bed fixed, but then Hunk needed that textbook so I was like yeah chill, I’ll go and get that for you. But then my bed was broken again once I pulled it out and this book just _happened_ to be the right size so I stuck that one back there, still thinking I probably wouldn’t need it, but then suddenly I needed it but no other book was the right size and using two to make it the right size only made it worse, so I figured, eh, Allura is in this class, it’ll be fineeeee, I’ll just use hers whenever I need to. Which has been working, for the record! But then she’s at her internship today and left it back at her apartment and I don’t have a spare key and I can’t get my actual one out so therefore—” Lance sucked in a big breath “—I have no textbook.”

Keith stared at him, trying to wrap his head around the onslaught of words that just came out of Lance’s mouth, and then asked the first thing that came to mind. “What textbook did Hunk need?”

"This like, math textbook.”

Keith considered his answer, and then nodded, pulling out his own textbook and notebook.

The story Lance had given him was total bullshit, and they both knew it was, but Keith didn’t have the capacity nor the will to care about it.

Lance gaped at him. “You have nothing more to say to that?”

“Sorry, Lance, I don’t care for your bullshit,” Keith responded drily.

Lance muttered something under his breath, and the momentary lapse of annoyance that Keith experienced was back, swinging and kicking like a four-year-old at a birthday party, having just been handed a pinata stick and told ‘go nuts, kid’.

"It wasn’t bullshit,” Lance said at last, finally speaking loud enough for Keith to hear.

“Yeah, and I’m the president,” Keith fired back with, echoing their first conversation.

Lance’s eyes narrowed, and that same feeling, like water was freezing over, came back between them. “Why are you so difficult?”

Another echo, this time nothing to do with Lance. Keith closed his eyes as the words slammed into him, throwing him back into the darkness of a room at the back of a house, where no one could hear him begging for help.

“All of this was a mistake,” Keith said, pushing his chair back from the table and standing up. “I don’t have time for this, Lance.”

“Then why do you keep doing it?” Lance remained seated, folding his arms over his chest, voice steadily calm. “I’ve given you every possible out, every chance to say no to me, every single time to walk away. So why are you still fucking here?”

Keith froze, that same, angry bitter taste welling up inside of him. “Actually, you haven’t. Every time that I try and walk away, you don’t let me. At the New Year’s Party. That first day of class. Every single day after that. When you followed me out. When you brought me soup. When you cornered me in the kitchen, and said all those words and told me that you wanted to start over. By giving me your number. You won’t let me walk away.”

“Then leave,” Lance replied. “Leave now. I won’t follow you out. I’ll delete your number, and we really can be perfect strangers. I won’t stop you from going ever again.”

Keith’s shoulders were tight, his back tense. His textbook was in one hand, the other curled in a fist.

But he didn’t move from where he stood.

“When I told you I wanted to be friends with you,” Lance started quietly, “did anything in you want to be friends with me?”

Keith knew that tone. Keith knew that tone all too well—the tone that meant somebody was trying so very desperately to say something and pretend like they weren’t hurt by every word that came out.

He was still facing Lance, could still see the way slim brown fingers gripped his pencil tightly, could still see the way his own shoulders were taut.

It was time to walk away. They had tried, and failed, repeatedly to make this work, mainly at Lance’s insistence. And now, Keith had a way out. He wouldn’t need to give one iota’s worth of thought to Lance ever again.

The textbook slammed as he dropped it back onto the table, echoing in the near silent library. The chair scraped loudly against the ground as he pulled it out from the table, and squeaked as he scooted it back in, now bearing his weight. Lance watched him carefully, pencil still clutched tightly, as Keith blew a long breath of air out of his nose.

“Why do you keep trying?” Keith asked.

“I told you before. I think you’re interesting,” Lance responded quietly. “Why do you keep trying?”

“Because I can’t say no.”

The two watched each other, unsure of how to proceed now that all of the words seemed to have been said. And then Keith opened his textbook, asked what Lance needed help with, and the pair began to work in silence.

For once, it was Lance that was on task as Keith’s mind kept drifting. It wasn’t hard to explain, but if you didn’t have a solid grasp on algebra, it would be next to impossible to comprehend.

Lance began to work on a practice problem, and Keith allowed his mind to wander, staring out the window and the overview of the sprawling campus. He knew, deep down, why he couldn’t say no to Lance. The boy was enigmatic; everything about him radiated energy.

And just once, _just once_ , Keith wanted to keep a New Year’s promise. The one that he made to Shiro, the one that he made to Shiro every year since they met.

And Lance… Lance was someone he couldn’t say no to. He knew, no matter how hard he tried, Lance wouldn’t go away.

Lance was like a little duckling. Yes, he quacked constantly and incessantly, and required a lot of attention and drove Keith absolutely nuts, but he was like, stuck with him. And ducklings were like a little sibling that only wanted to be by your side, constantly. And fuck if they drove you insane, but you were stuck with them, and life would be weird without them there.

If he looked any deeper, he might have known then the reason he craved friendship with the boy who seemed determined to piss him off every second of every day. But Lance interrupted his thought spiral with a question, drawing Keith back to the present moment.

The rest of the session sailed by, and by the end of it, Lance actually seemed to know what he was doing with it. It was half an hour before three, and Lance wanted to get over to Coran’s classroom early.

He was about to walk away when he suddenly stopped, backtracking and then digging something out of his bag as he stood next to Keith. “I forgot I promised you snacks,” he muttered, looking around for a beat longer before pulling a Tupperware container out with a triumphant, ‘aha!’.

“Cookies, baked by yours truly.”

Keith eyed them.

“Okay, yeah, alright, Hunk made them but they’re still a thank you for the help. So um, thank you.”

“No problem,” Keith murmured, still looking at the cookies, mildly bewildered. Why was Lance so fucking nice to him? They had an argument no less than an hour ago.

Lance started to walk away again, and then paused, back to Keith. “If you’re not doing anything tonight, a few friends are gathering at my apartment for drinks or whatever.”

Keith knew he was trying to come off flippant, like it didn’t really matter, but only mildly succeeded.

“I um, I’ve got something with someone tonight and—”

“Oh no worries!” Lance cut him off. “Just thought I’d offer.”

And then the tan boy was gone, and Keith was left staring after him, unsure of what exactly happened today.

~~~  
**February 2 nd**

Adam was busy doing actual college things, meaning it was just the two of them on the couch, and Keith was utterly content with the situation. It wasn’t like he didn’t _dislike_ Adam, but he also held a lot of love for his older brother, and it was nice when the nights were just the pair of them.

It was nice.

Keith liked nice.

He liked nights like these with Shiro, a crappy action movie on TV and a few open beers between them. Shiro had given up the fight a few years ago about drinking with Keith, when he discovered it was much easier to control his habits when he had easy access to when they occurred. Keith preferred drinking with Shiro because the older man became looser, freer with his hands and his words.

In short, drinking together was nice.

Keith had a nice buzz going about him now, while Shiro was still on the sober side, Keith having drunk the majority of what had been in their fridge already. A boom sounded from the TV, and Keith flinched, caught off guard by the sudden noise.

“Wha was ‘hat?” he asked, and then frowned at his slurred words. He might have been a little more gone than he thought.

Shiro made a noise of amusement, and Keith glanced over to find him with a small smile, peering right back at him. “I always forget how funny Drunk Keith is.”

Keith beamed at him. “The funniest man you ever did see!” There. He could make his words coherent.

Shiro outright laughed now. “Yeah, you’re certainly in the running, although John Mulaney might still own the crown.”

“Not Adam?”

The amused look grew. “Not Adam. His is a humor of a different kind.”

Keith nodded, satisfied that he was beating out Adam, and turned his attention back to the film. A large, buff, blond man was hitting things with a hammer, and if he was a little bit darker haired Keith might have had his mouth watering.

“If I was ever given the opportunity to have Thor hit me with his hammer, I might just come right then and there,” Shiro said, and yeah, he was at least a little gone to be making comments like that.

Warmth stirred low in Keith’s gut. “Yeah? Got something for big, buff men?”

Shiro whistled, as they both watched Thor perform some other manly, heroic action. “I just might.”

“Why ‘re you dating Adam then? He’s like…” Keith made some vague motions with his hands. “Twig.”

Shiro snorted. “Adam is about as far from a twig as they come. When we were moving in together the first time, the moment I got that bed through the door, we made good use of it. God, that boy has biceps for _days._ ”

That bitter, unpleasant taste made its way into his mouth, and suddenly, Keith didn’t want to watch hulking men do anything anymore.

“What do you even like about him anyways?” Keith muttered, turning his attention from the TV in order to pick at the frayed threads of his sleeve cuff.

“He’s real sweet,” Shiro replied instantly. “He’s soft and caring and stupidly smart. He always knows exactly what he’s doing and when he doesn’t, that’s the most adorable thing ever. He’s just… he’s just perfect.”

Shiro’s voice had taken on this adoring tone that had the bitter taste strengthening, the guilt and shame swimming in his gut.

This was supposed to be a night for them, but like the dumbass he is, Keith had turned the conversation exactly where he didn’t want it.

“I don’t wanna talk about Adam anymore,” Keith said, yanking hard on his sleeve, causing an entire row of his cuff to unravel.

“…Alright,” Shiro said slowly, dragging the word out. “What do you want to do then?”

“Let’s just watch the movie.”

Shiro might have replied, he might have not; Keith wouldn’t have any idea as he downed the rest of his beer, swiping at his mouth for the few drops his tongue failed to catch. Once he was done, he leaned back, almost to the point where he was sinking into the couch and focused his attention solely on the screen and not at all on the hulking body next to him.

See, the thing about Keith was that when he was sober, he was entirely closed off. He had his emotions in control, he knew what he was about to say, and while he was impulsive (which managed to get him into trouble on the daily) he usually wasn’t impulsive in _certain_ areas.

Drunk Keith had no such qualms about anything, ever.

As the movie continued, he found himself snuggling nearer and nearer to Shiro, until his head was resting on Shiro’s bicep, his hand lightly curled around a muscled forearm, tracing over the tattoos that Shiro had inked there.

Shiro, for his part, either didn’t notice at all, or noticed and didn’t care, letting Keith repeatedly run his fingers up and down his arm.

Keith was close enough that he could breathe in the cologne that always clung to Shiro, even if it had been hours before that it had been applied. He could smell _man scent,_ as he liked to call it, and that warmth was returning to his gut as the bitter, unwelcome taste disappeared. There should be the guilt—the guilt that always came when he was in a position like this, doing _this,_ with Shiro none the wiser. But that was another amazing effect of alcohol—it made feelings like guilt go away for the night.

The movie was winding down to a close, and Shiro slid a little further down the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table, nearly knocking over several empty bottles in the process.

“Whatcha doin there, Keith?” he asked in a quiet voice, even as he made no move to stop him.

“Admirin’ your tattoos,” Keith mumbled, not willing to move his head away enough to form proper, coherent words.

“I can see that,” Shiro replied.

Neither of them moved.

And then Shiro cleared his throat, muscles tensing, and Keith found that warmth pooling even lower. Fuck, he loved it when Shiro did that.

“You don’t still have that silly little crush on me, right?”

The warmth disappeared, and Keith stilled.

“Of course not,” he said, voice wobbling, and _fuck,_ that wasn’t convincing at all.

But Shiro must have been okay with it, or drunk enough that he was okay with it, because Keith felt him nod (his head was still on that glorious bicep), and Keith relaxed.

“Good, good. This would have been totally inappropriate if you did.”

_What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him._

“Yeah. Totally.”

The movie ended—with another few heroic actions performed by Thor that Shiro couldn’t help but whistle over—and the pair sat in there, the main menu playing the same looping sound track, over and over.

Eventually, Shiro picked up the remote and turned the TV off, casting the room into darkness.

Neither of them spoke, Keith nestled up even tighter against Shiro and Shiro letting it happen.

Shiro broke the silence first. “I think I’m going to propose to Adam.”

Any warm feeling that had returned was now banished again, and wow, would you look at that, he really _wasn’t_ drunk enough to make the bitter taste go away. And look, look at that, there’s _the guilt as well!_

“Yeah?” Keith asked, fighting to get the words out from his choked throat.

"Yeah,” Shiro replied softly. “I love him. I really, truly do. And we’ve had our ups and downs—what couple hasn’t?—and I think it’s time. Not right away of course, I’d still have to get a ring before anything was finalized, but it’s something I’ve been considering for a while, so I think I’m gonna do it.”

Keith couldn’t take it anymore, the falsified closeness, the feeling of intimacy that didn’t exist beyond the scope of his mind. He dropped Shiro’s arm, feeling the lack of warmth on his skin immediately, tucking his legs up to him as he shuffled back to his rightful side of the couch.

“That’s great,” Keith said, voice coming out as a whisper. He cleared his throat to try again. “I’m really happy for you.”

And he was. Shiro had been through so much and deserved all the happiness in the world. If Adam was the one to give it to him, so be it.

But being happy would do nothing to erase the hidden sadness he’d carried since the first day he’d been introduced to Shiro’s future fiancé.

Because he would be. Adam would say yes—frankly, who wouldn’t say yes if Takashi Shirogane asked you to marry them—and they would have a wonderful wedding and Keith would be the best man, and it would all be so _fucking happy._

“I think I’m gonna go to bed now,” Keith said abruptly, shoving his way up from the couch and ignoring Shiro’s protests as he quickly made his way down the short hall that led to his bedroom, closing the door with a soft, _snick,_ and leaning against it. His hair was falling into his eyes, and he didn’t push it back, letting it hang there as he shuddered, trying to hold it all back.

Sadness and alcohol never mixed well, and Keith should know better by now.

Nothing, _nothing_ , that involved him was ever nice at all.

~~~  
**February 3 rd **

_There was a hard something pressing into his butt, and Keith blinked open his eyes._

_“Shiro?” he mumbled, voice tired with sleep. Strong, thick arms wound around his waist, pushing him back further against the hard something against his ass._

_"You’re awake,” a voice murmured, and_ holy shit _, it was Shiro’s. “I’m sorry I upset you last night,”_

_"It’s okay,” Keith murmured, feeling the rest of him wake up as well._

_"I spent all night thinking of ways I could make it up to you,” Shiro said, voice low and right next to his ear, hot air ghosting against the shell that had Keith arching into the feeling._

_“Oh yeah?”_

_“Mm,” Shiro purred, one of his large hands travelling lower. “And I think I found the perfect thing.”_

_Said hand had slipped below his waistband, and Keith’s breathing had picked up, as fast paced as his heart._

_The hand circled his hips, dragging lightly over each one, along his pelvis,_ just _above where Keith really wanted it._

_He shifted his hips, trying to guide the hand lower, but Shiro wasn’t having any of it. “Ah ah,” he teased, biting lightly at Keith’s ear. “This is your apology, but I have to give it at_ my _pace.”_

_Keith was full on panting now, quite possibly harder than he’s ever been in his whole life. “Please,” he moaned, and that same little laugh Shiro always saved for Adam was now being used on_ him.

 " _If you’re begging…”_

_Shiro’s hand finally wrapped around his cock, and Keith keened, desperately trying to thrust into the touch, fairly certain this was going to be the quickest he’s ever come._

_“Can I—” he swallowed hard, “—can I touch you, please?”_

_"Not yet,” Shiro breathed into his ear, sinking his teeth down harder._

_Keith was seeing spots, and he could feel his dick leaking with precome onto that strong hand. “Fuck,” he whined, and Shiro began to move, stroking over him slowly, gently._

_“How’s this, kitten?”_

_"Harder,_ please _.”_

_“Anything for you.”_

_The grip tightened, and Keith moaned, wanton. Fuck, he should be embarrassed about everything that was happening—he probably seemed stupidly needy—but everything felt too damn good for him to care._

_“Almost—almost there,” he panted, not wanting it to be over._

_Shiro swiped a broad thumb across the slit of his cock, gathering wetness and spreading it over the head. Fuck never had something felt so_ good. _Keith was going to cry from the pure sensation of it all._

_"So—so close. Just—just need a little—a little more.”_

_Shiro’s hand squeezed, that thumb right back on the slit, pressing down and Keith was shaking._

_“Come for me, baby,” Shiro whispered into his ear, and that was all it took._

_Keith cried out as he came, hot fluid seeping over Shiro’s fist, soaking into his sheets, Shiro’s hand still pumping him—_

Keith awoke with a gasp, shaking, curled in on himself. His heart was racing, and his breathing was still quick, everything about him warm and sated.

Well, almost everything. His dick was throbbing painfully, and unlike his dream, he hadn’t quite come just yet.

A knock on his door startled his snaking hand away from the waistband of his sweatpants, Shiro’s concerned voice floating through. “You okay in there buddy?” His words were slurred, and Keith glanced at the clock to find that it was blinking **2:58 am**.

“All good,” Keith called back, willing his voice not to shake. He waited as Shiro lingered at his door, and Keith stared at his doorknob, willing it to stay still. After what seemed like ages, Shiro’s soft footsteps padded away, and Keith sighed, rolling onto his back.

He was still hard—if not harder than when he had woken up—and it didn’t feel like it was going away anytime soon, not after the dream he had.

When he was fairly certain that Shiro wasn’t going to interrupt him (really, though, did Keith mind if he did?), that same hand travelled slowly back to where his aching dick waited, slipping easily past his waistband and curling around his member.

Keith hitched a breath at the sensation, sighing and he began to stroke himself. The dream was still fresh in his mind, the sensations of Shiro touching him still creating goosebumps on his skin.

That voice, that _wanton_ voice, all for him.

Keith’s pace picked up as his eyes fluttered shut, picturing the scene. Fuck, he was close. His thumb swiped over the head of his dick just as Shiro’s had, and Keith bit his lip, holding back a groan. No need to call more attention to himself.

_Come for me, baby._

That stupid, dream whisper was what did him in, and Keith groaned as he spilled over his fist, still working up and down his dick until the overstimulation got to the point of painful.

He withdrew his hand, wrinkling his nose at the sticky mess, before using tissues to clean the worst of the mess up. Shucking off his sweatpants, he left them in a heap on the floor, opening his third drawer and pulling out a fresh pair of boxers. He didn’t close it in time to miss seeing the corner of a photo he kept, and the guilt and shame washed over him like a tidal wave.

Flopping back into bed, he buried his face in his pillow, groaning for a different reason this time, and prayed only sleep would visit him this time.

~~~  
**February 7 th **

They were back in class, and Lance had passed his retake quiz (and Keith knew that because Lance had texted him several exclamation points and a few thumbs up when the grades went in), and now they were at the end of the unit. Class had finished early, but Coran had wanted some time to grade some papers to pass back before they all left, so here they were, milling about, and Lance was sideways in his seat to talk to the girl who was now situated behind him.

“So, ‘Llura, what are your plans for the infamous V-day?” he asked, all sly smiles and suave confidence.

She raised an eyebrow at him, and Keith pretended not to be listening in to their conversation. “Lotor has something planned for us,” she replied evenly, and Keith realized this was the first time he had ever heard her _actually_ speak. She had a soft, lilting British accent, that somehow fit perfectly with the silver white hair currently twisted up into an elegant messy bun. If Keith was even remotely straight, he’s pretty sure he’d have an aneurism every time he looked at her.

Lance deflated, and a small smirk tugged at Keith’s lips from where he very much wasn’t engrossed in their conversation. “Ahh, come on,” he whined, stretching the last word out.

Allura giggled. “Oh hush, you knew there was no chance I’d be spending it with you. No offence, of course.”

A jaded barb, that, for some ungodly reason, had Keith bristling.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance grumbled. “You love your boyfriend too much. It’s whatever.”

“I spend every other day with you, Lance.” Keith couldn’t help but glance up from his phone at her fond tone. “In fact, I’ll be spending the morning of that day with you; it’s a Thursday, so I’ll be seeing you in class.”

Still, Lance pouted. “That’s not the same,” he whined. “Hunk’s finally going out with Shay—he texted me that he asked her out this morning—”

“—oh, good for him!”

“—and Pidge already has mystery plans she refuses to share with me—” Oh, that was new, “—you’re busy now, and Veronica is going out with her boyfriend. I’ve got no one,” Lance all but wailed, and several sets of concerned eyes flicked over to him.

“What about Keith?” Allura asked, and Keith’s gaze snapped up, and then slid slowly over to Lance, from where he was now being involved in the conversation.

“I’m not spending Valentine’s Day with you, Lance,” he said drily.

Lance looked like a kicked puppy. “See! Even Keith, the massive loner, doesn’t want to spend Valentine’s Day with me!”

“Thanks, Lance, I’m not offended at all.”

Lance muttered something that sounded like, _not having a reason to be offended_ , and Keith returned his attention to his phone, the conversation much less interesting when he was part of it.

He texted Matt, trying to find out what Pidge’s mystery plans were, and then frowned when Matt didn’t know either. He continued to chat with him as Lance bemoaned his lack of a love life next to him, frowning deeper when Matt explained that he had plans as well.

Shit. Matt and Pidge had been his hope for the night. It wasn’t like he needed or wanted Valentine’s Day plans, but it was better to have them and not sit at home drinking as he thought about what Adam and Shiro would be up to.

Maybe he really should have plans, or his liver was going to kill him before 28.

Keith put his phone down when he saw the time—two minutes before he left—and glanced over at Lance. The tan boy still looked like a kicked puppy, significantly more so now. A small, teensy part of him felt kind of bad for Lance, but a bigger part of him rolled his eyes at the demonstration.

"You’ll find someone Lance, I’m sure,” Keith said, fighting to keep most of his sarcasm out of his voice. It didn’t work.

“Har har,” Lance deadpanned. “Thank you so much for the vote of confidence, Mr. Above it All.” Lance turned smug. “I bet you don’t have V-day plans, either.”

Keith cringed. “First of all, don’t call it V-day, that’s weird. Second, I don’t need or want plans. It’s a stupid holiday that only promotes loneliness and chocolate sales. Never celebrated it, never will.”

Lance pouted, smugness gone.

The bell rang, and Keith snagged his paper off the corner of Coran’s desk, and made a swift exit.

He was on his walk back to his apartment, though, and he was still thinking over the conversation he just had.

He didn’t really want Valentine’s Day plans—did he?  
~~~

**February 12 th**

It was like the universe would _not_ shut _up_ about Valentine’s Day.

There were banners all over the school, with pink and red ribbons hanging from them, and giant hearts on every available surface. Keith was pretty sure it hadn’t been like this last year, so why the change for this year?

The universe hated him. That’s why.

He had yet to find out what Pidge’s mystery plans were, and Matt was a no go with his new girlfriend, and Keith was pretty sure it was a cry for suicide if he spent the night with Adam and Shiro.

He huffed as yet another streamer blew into his face, batting it away with a free hand. The Arizona sun shone down on him, and Keith glared up at it, as if it too had some part in all this ridiculousness.

Keith didn’t believe in signs, or fate, or whatever deity of chance you chose to believe in. But this—this was getting annoying.

A sign glared out at him as he walked by it on the way to his 3 pm class. _Do YOU have a special someone? If so, reservations at QUINTESSENCE are sure to make your night special!_

He mocked it in a low voice, reading aloud the stupid phrase as he bypassed it.

Fucking love.

No one needs that shit.

_Oh, but you want it. Just with the one person you can’t have._

That bitter taste arose in his mouth again, and Keith tried his best to ignore it as he arrived in class, entering and slouching down into his usual seat towards the back.

Valentine’s Day was stupid.

He was just fine being single, thank you _very_ much.

~~~  
Keith fought back his gag reflex as Adam did another stupidly adorable thing that had Shiro laughing as they danced around the kitchen, prepping dinner, each wearing ridiculous aprons.

"Stop smacking my ass and stir the peppers,” Shiro chided, without any real heat in his voice.

“Can do, Captain,” Adam replied smoothly, and the infallible Takashi Shirogane blushed.

Keith really did gag this time.

He was at the kitchen bar, working on astrophysics homework, trying desperately to ignore the painful compressions in his chest that occurred every time he looked up.

Shiro was _happy._ He was so goddamn happy.

And it should make Keith happy to see him so happy.

But that hurt still lingered, and he remembered certain dreams more vividly than others, and Keith wanted nothing more than for Shiro to be happy with _him._

_He sees you as a little brother. There’s no way in hell that’s going to change. And, he told you he was going to propose to Adam. You can’t stop that from happening._

Keith wondered if it was possible to get in a fistfight with your inner sense of self.

His phone buzzed next to him, Lance’s name flashing across the notifications bar.

Keith swiped the message open, read it, rolled his eyes, and then searched for the problem Lance was asking for answers to.

He typed his response out, and then locked his phone, setting it gently back where it had been a moment previous.

And then he looked up, because the kitchen was _way_ too damn quiet, and found both Shiro and Adam looking at him with twin, knowing smirks.

“What?” Keith asked, like an idiot.

The smirks only grew.

And then it clicked.

Keith groaned, burying his face in his hands, and that was all the encouragement they needed to pounce on him like a hawk.

“Is that a boy?”

“Is that a blush I see?”

“Does little-wittle Keithy have a crush?”

“Who is it! Who is it!”

“I don’t have a crush, Lance is just some dude in one of my classes and we study together sometimes, and would the both of you please back off?” Keith grit out, exasperated, lifting his head from his hands.

Adam looked sated at the answers he had gotten, but Shiro was still grinning like the cat who had gotten the cream. “If you say so,” he replied smugly, as if he knew Keith’s feelings better than Keith knew them, and then turned back to making dinner.

Dinner was ready before he knew it, and then it was over just as quickly, and Adam and Shiro were curled up on the couch, each doing their respective school work/teacher training, together but individually.

Keith couldn’t help but glance up at the domestic scene every now and then, feeling his heart pang every time he caught a gaze that was meant for Adam and Adam alone.

With a sour taste in his mouth, Keith picked up his phone, refusing to stop and consider what he was doing, typing out a message to Lance and then shutting his phone off before he got a reply.

It chimed in a moment later, and Keith looked down at it, staring at the message long after his screen had gone dark, thinking about nothing and everything.

~~~  
**February 14 th**

Keith looked down at the address written on a scrap of paper, and then back up at the door, and finally, after standing there like an idiot for a least a full minute, knocked on the door.

He shuffled his feet as he waited, stuffing the address slip back into his pocket and passing the bag of chips from one hand to the other, cradling a jar of salsa in the crook of his arm.

The lock clicked, and a heartbeat later, the door was being pulled open, revealing a grinning Lance on the other side.

“You came!” he said, sounding vaguely surprised.

In response, Keith became vaguely offended. “Yeah, of course I came. I said I would, so here I am.”

The truth of the matter was that up until twenty minutes ago Keith very much did not want to come over. In class that day, Lance had given Keith his address and told him, ‘show up whenever’, to which Keith figured meant it was probably okay to not show up at all, because _technically_ that was ‘whenever’.

But Lance had seemed genuinely excited about them hanging out tonight, despite the romantic connotation of today. And frankly, the decorations had gotten even worse, to the point where there wasn’t an inch of campus that wasn’t covered in some shade of red, pink, or white, and Keith was sick of it.

Lance shouldn’t have been his first choice, nor a choice at all. Yeah, since their second study session in the library things had gotten better between them, but things were still _weird._ They were totally different types of people, and despite Lance’s weird insistence that they keep trying on the friendship front, things hadn’t been easy. In class, they were a lot better, to the point where Allura had made a small comment about it yesterday, to which both Keith and Lance had looked uncomfortable at being called out on it.

They didn’t text much, Keith was pretty sure they were only friends in the name of the matter, and Lance still drove him fucking nuts when they did text, but they were…well, they were trying.

And neither of them could figure out why.

If Keith believed that fate and destiny were real, he might have staked some trust in that, given that they kept going back to each other. But he didn’t believe in that, so he chalked it up to being lonely, and Lance being enigmatic.

That, and the soup instance.

Keith tried to not think about the soup instance and all that it meant to him.

He was startled back into the present moment as Lance ushered him inside, using a foot to kick the door shut behind him.

“Woah, dude, you brought food?” Lance asks, incredulous, just now noticing what Keith carried.

“Uh, yeah. It’s only polite, dude,” he replies, snagging use of Lance’s ‘dude’. _And you brought me soup that one time._ “Sorry it’s not homemade, this was the best I could do.”

“It’s totally perfect,” Lance says, taking the offerings out of Keith’s arms and setting them down onto the coffee table in front of a well-loved sofa. Keith takes a moment to look around the apartment.

It’s like the one he shares with Shiro and Adam, although smaller. There’s no hallway that branches down into the room that Keith inhabits, and it seems like there’s only one other room in the rest of the place. The kitchen is next to the front door, open to the living space which is adorned with a single, large couch, and two love seats, across from a mounted TV and a bookshelf housing a multitude of movies and games. The door next to the TV is likely the bedroom, and from the number of shoes and differing sizes, Keith figures there’s probably someone else living here with Lance.

“Do you need the bathroom or anything?” Lance asks, looking at him curiously.

Keith shakes his head. “No, just looking around.”

Lance nods, and stuffs his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Sooooo…” he says.

“Sooooo…” Keith echoes.

“This is a little weird, right?” Lance asks, a hint of panic on his face.

Keith’s shoulders slump at the admission. “This is so totally fucking weird.”

Lance giggles, and it’s not the laughter that makes Keith drop everything, but it’s damn close. He’s more relaxed now, his elbows not as stiff and his hands creeping out of his pockets. “I thought it was just me but…”

Keith finishes the sentence. “This totally isn’t us.”

“Right?! I was like, low key shocked when that text came in, and I mean, I’m always down to hang out, but it seemed weird.”

Keith shrugged. “You’re the one who complained for like, a week, about not having plans for tonight. I figured it’d be chill if we hung out.”

Lance nodded. “It definitely is, I’m just still a little stunned. You didn’t seem that eager to hang out with me before.”

Inwardly, Keith cringed. Outwardly, Keith shrugged again. “We’re friends, right?”

Lance got that curious look back on his face. “Yeah. We’re friends.”

And then that weird feeling settled back over them.

“Alright!” Lance said, breaking the silence and clapping his hands. “I’ll see how the pizza rolls are coming, you pick out a movie.”

Lance moved into the kitchen behind Keith, spurring Keith into movement as well, as he padded over to the coffee table where Lance had set the salsa and chips next to a large stack of movies. Keith picked them up, flipping briefly through the titles, before dropping them all back where they came from.

"Really, Lance?”

“What’s the problem?” Lance called back, out of sight.

"All of these are romance chick flicks.”

A head of messy brown hair and bright blue eyes popped back into view. “I still don’t see the problem.”

Keith groaned. “I am _not_ being a cliché tonight.”

“Too bad, cause I am, and you’re in my apartment.”

Keith groaned again.

"Just shut up and pick a movie.”

Keith glared down at the innocent stack, wondering if it really would be all that rude to leave now, and then, with a resigned sigh, picked it up and rifled through it to find the least cliché, romance-y movie possible.

Lance returned by the time Keith had gotten it down to two movies, flipping each over in his hand to read the backs. The smell of pizza rolls assaulted his nose, and in response his stomach rumbled.

_Wow, I really am the college stereotype. Some alcohol, and—_

Movement in the corner of the eye saw Lance going back into the kitchen, opening the fridge, looking for a moment, before returning with two beers.

_Yup, officially the loser college stereotype—beers and hangin with buds on Valentine’s Day instead of getting laid. Nice, Kogane._

“Ooh!” Lance squealed, snatching one of the movie cases out of his hand. “We’re totally watching this one.”

Before Keith could protest even further about their plans for the evening, Lance had the movie up and running, clicking through the main menu to set up captions, and then pressing play.

Lance had settled on the couch in the middle of this process, and now that the movie was booming with the logo noise, Lance was patting the spot next to him, indicating that Keith should sit down next to him.

He did, although he sat further away from where Lance motioned for him. The pizza rolls were cooling off, and he popped one into his mouth, opening wide but refusing to spit it out when he realized it was still too hot too eat.

He ate it anyway, not wanting his dignity lost to snack food, getting up from the couch and striding over to the kitchen. “Got any water?” he mumbled around a mouthful of still-too-hot food, and Lance replied that there should be a few bottles in the fridge.

The couch sank around him as he sat back down, warily eyeing the plate of food and beer bottles. He didn’t want to destroy his liver quite so early in the night, and this whole thing, hanging out with Lance and all, was so that he didn’t drink himself into misery.

The opening scene is playing, and Keith doesn’t pay it much mind, scrolling through Snapchat as Lance hums along to the soundtrack.

He freezes when he gets to a snap of Shiro and Adam, the latter pressing a kiss into the former’s cheek, captioned ‘my perfect Valentine’.

Keith exits the app and drops his phone to the floor. He can feel Lance’s eyes flick to his face, but wisely, he says nothing, turning back to the movie.

“Honest to god, I would let Heath Ledger bone me until I can’t walk straight for three weeks.”

Keith glances over to him, eyebrows raising at the specificity of the statement. “So, you’re a bottom?”

Lance sucks in a sharp breath, gaping at him, one hand pressed to his chest. “I can _assure_ you I am _not_.”

Keith’s eyebrows raise higher. “Oh really? Because that was a bottom statement.”

“Takes one to know one,” Lance fires back.

Keith watches him for a moment longer, waiting for Lance to call his bluff, and when he doesn’t, Keith lifts a shoulder.

Lance crows. “I knew it!”

“You know you just admitted to being a bottom.”

“I am a bottom for Heath Ledger and Heath Ledger only.”

“What’s so good about him?”

Lance is scandalized. “Have you _seen_ him?”

Keith takes another look at the movie, waiting for him to appear back on screen. It takes several minutes, but when he does, Keith makes a so-so motion with his hand. Lance practically chokes on his drink.

“Heath Ledger is a god, and don’t you _dare_ disrespect his memory.”

“I’m not disrespecting his memory, I’m just saying he’s not my type.”

Lance falls silent, and they continue to watch the movie. They’re on the party scene when Lance speaks again, and it’s then that Keith notices that the distance between them had closed at some point. “So, who is your type?”

Shiro flashes into his mind instantly, but the longer he thinks about it, Shiro is the only person he’s liked that fits that specific body type. If he was to more carefully consider, he’s typically liked guys with soft faces, bright eyes, not exactly skinny, but more… _lean._ Boys with soft brown hair and infectious laughter.

Keith cocks his head, ignoring his train of thought. “I don’t really have a type.”

Lance hums, an answer that’s neither here nor there. “I think it’s time we start drinking.”

"Oh yeah?”

Lance smirks. “And I’ve got the perfect game for it.”

With that look in his eye—something Keith has never seen before—he knows this isn’t going to be a good idea. But he wants to do it anyways, because hell, what are fun nights without stupid decisions?

“Grab a beer,” Lance said, handing him one, “and follow my lead.”

They each cracked theirs open as Lance explained the rules. “It’s a simple drinking game. Every time a character does something stupid instead of the obvious decision in front of them, drink. Every time a character says they don’t love someone they clearly love, drink. And most important, every time there’s any sort of song—”

Keith finished for him. “—drink.”

Lance cocked a half grin. “See? You get it.”

They were barely twenty minutes into their game and Keith already had half his bottle gone with only taking sips every time one of the situations happened.

“How many times have you seen this movie?” Keith asked to Lance, who was currently mouthing along to some of the lines.

“Enough,” Lance replied.

They each made it through two whole bottle and a little bit into a thing of whiskey by the time the movie ended, predictably, of course.

Lance stumbled as he got up to put the next one in, his choice this time.

Keith groaned, long and low, when he saw the title. “Really, Lance? The _Notebook?_ ”

“It’s a classic,” Lance hissed at him, settling back down onto the couch, legs tucked up under him and inches away from Keith.

Keith tried very, very hard not to shift over from the lack of personal space.

They were approximately fifteen minutes in when Keith couldn’t take it anymore. “Is there any way we can watch literally anything else?”

“Nope,” Lance responded instantly.

“Ugh,” Keith drawled. “You’re the worst.”

“Psh, you enjoy my company.”

Keith opened his mouth to disagree but found himself unable to form the words. He did enjoy Lance’s company, at least right now.

Lance reaches for the remote, turning the volume down, and Keith watches the movements with a hesitant curiosity. _Where is this going?_

“New drinking game,” Lance says, and Keith feels his gut say _uh oh_ , because there’s no way this is good. “It’s truth or dare time.”

“How is this a drinking game?”

“If you don’t wanna do it, you gotta drink,” Lance says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Fair enough,” Keith says, on the verge of another bad decision. “I’ll go first. Truth or dare, Lance?”

And then Lance looks up at him with those big blue eyes from where they were so close to his side a moment previous, and Keith feels the world slow down, just a little bit.

“Truth,” Lance replies easily, and the moment is broken.

“Why are you spending Valentine’s Day—a day you of all people should be thriving—on a couch, drinking shitty beer, with me?”

“First of all,” Lance begins, indignant, holding up one finger, “I reject your assumption that I’m a fuckboy. Second of all, this beer really is not that shitty.” He hiccups. “Third of all, because the person I would ideally be spending it with is off with her boyfriend doing everything I want to be doing with her.” Lance’s mouth turns down at the end of his earnest response, and Keith feels just a touch of sympathy at being in the same boat.

“My turn,” Lance continues.

"Dare,” Keith says immediately.

Lance looks put out. “You gotta let me ask first.”

“Fine.”

“Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

Lance rolls his eyes, mouthing words but not actually saying anything.

“Alright, fine. I dare you to finish the rest of your drink.”

“That’s lame. You’re only supposed to drink if you _don’t_ wanna do it.”

“You’re the worst,” Lance mutters in response, but looks off in the distance, thinking.

"I dare you to strip and sprint up and down the hallway.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “I’m not trying to get kicked out of college, thank you very much.”

“You wouldn’t get kicked out for that.”

Keith downs the rest of his beer.

"Chicken,” Lance says, sticking out his tongue.

“My turn,” Keith burps in response, which has Lance scrambling away from him.

They go back and forth, asking embarrassing truths with limited amounts of dares and plenty of alcohol consumption.

_The Notebook_ has ended, Keith is hanging off the edge of the couch with Lance on the floor, staring up at him with those stupid blue eyes of his. It’s dark in the room, Keith is plenty drunk, and beginning to feel it. But he’s not alone; he’s laughing at a stupid joke with Lance, who’s now definitely holding his hand, lacing their fingers together.

"Truth or dare?” Keith asks in a low voice, everything other than Lance’s face spinning.

"Truth,” Lance whispers back.

They’re out of alcohol, and both know it, so whatever Keith asks must be answered.

“Why did you want my attention so badly?”  
Lance’s stupid blue eyes rove over his face, before settling in one place, pretty lips barely moving to form his answer. “I had a crush on you.”

Keith almost falls off the couch, and Lance isn’t done talking.

"I saw you way back in freshman year—which, was only like two semesters ago, oops—and you were pretty and enigmatic, and someone compared the two of us but did it in a way that was negative for me, and I just got this like, hate crush?” his statement comes out as a question, as if he doesn’t know himself why he liked Keith. “And since then, even when I saw you at that first party, I had this small little crush on you.”

His eyes have gone hazy, and Keith knows where that gaze is fixated. Knows the connotation of the day, knows that Lance chose to spend it here, with him, instead of finding some pretty boy or girl to enjoy his time with. Knows what should happen next. Instead, Lance keeps talking.

“But then I got to know you a bit more, and the crush went away. Seems like I like you better as a friend.”

His eyes have lost that hazy look, and he’s meeting Keith’s again. Keith feels frozen in time, replaying Lance’s words over and over in his head even though he only said them a moment ago.

“This doesn’t make things weird between us, right?”

Keith clears his throat, blinking. “Yeah, totally not. I get it.” 

Lance grins up at him, a lazy look on his face. “Cool. Cause I really do like being your friend, even if you were a total dick at first.”

Keith rolls his eyes, the moment entirely broken.

Lance yawns, and Keith yawns too. “I think it’s time I hit the hay,” Lance says, suddenly sleepy. “I don’t wanna have a hangover from hell for my 10 am tomorrow.”

Keith nods.

Neither of them moves.

Lance squeezes his hand from where their fingers are still laced together. “Thanks for spending Valentine’s Day with me in a totally bro, platonic way.”

Keith squeezes back. “I enjoyed it in a totally, bro, platonic way.”

They gaze at each other for another heartbeat before Lance unlaces their fingers, sitting up and then rocking backwards. “Fuck, I think I’m still drunk.”

“You’re not slurring your words.”

“Neither are you.”

Lance looks like inspiration struck him. “Maybe we’re both slurring our words and we can’t tell because we’re both drunk!”

Keith frowns at him. He’s been drunk before and as far as he knows that isn’t an actual thing, but he’s also presently drunk enough not to be able determine if that’s a stupid idea.

Lance stands up, wobbling, hands out like he’s walking on a balance beam. “You’re welcome to crash here for the night,” he says, and Keith barely catches it as he drifts off to sleep, still halfway off the sofa. “Goodnight, Keith.”

“Night, Lance.”

And that’s the last thing he remembers before he passes out.

~~~

**February 15 th**

Keith wakes up with a hangover from hell and no idea where he is. His mouth is dry, his eyes feel cracked and too full of goop, and his head is pounding.

He blinks his eyes slowly open, just to come face to face with a well-worn carpet.

“What the fuck?” he mutters, and tries to push himself up from the carpet, because he looks close but he doesn’t think he’s actually all that close to it.

In all his coordinated glory, Keith manages to fall off whatever he’s presently laying on and truly meet the carpet, becoming acquainted cheek first.

“What the fuck?” he asks again, head now pounding harder and words smushed due to his face being pressed up against the floor.

When he manages to get his bearing about him just a little bit more, Keith notices the multitude of beer bottles on the table and a few harder liquor bottles as well. And then he remembers.

It was Valentine’s Day—which makes this Friday, the day after—and he spent it drinking. With Lance.

He’s pretty sure nothing embarrassing happened, but Drunk Keith isn’t exactly the most reliant at telling Sober Keith what he did the night before.

He groans, reaching up to drag a hand down his face.

Keith lays there for another moment, attempting to make the room stop spinning, but nothing is working all that well and Keith would just really, _really_ , love to go back to sleep now.

Footsteps sound from somewhere, and Keith isn’t sure if it’s in this apartment or somewhere else, but it gets him up and moving.

The room tilts violently, and he holds both hands out to steady himself. A moment ago, he was fairly certain he hadn’t drunk _that_ much, but now, that certainty is waning.

He stumbles into the kitchen, feeling the sourness of last night’s beer as it makes a nice morning taste in his mouth. Grimacing, he looks at the sink, wondering if the water would be okay to drink, and then thinks better of it when he hears Lance shuffle about behind the closed door.

_Fuck fuck fuck_

He sees his coat and shoes by the front door, so, technically, he could make a quick break for it. This isn’t some late-night-hookup type of situation; leaving wouldn’t make him seem like a douche, just a college kid with an early morning class.

But Lance knows that Keith doesn’t have an early morning class—that was part of their whole drinking thing, that it was okay because neither of them needed to be up early.

So, yes, he could leave, but it would make him look like a douche.

_Do I really care what Lance thinks of me?_

His own hesitation answers the question.

There’s a pad of paper hanging on the fridge—the kind with the magnet on the back so you can write notes and have them easily visible. There’s more than likely a pen around here somewhere as well.

An idea comes into his head that makes him look like an un-douche person for leaving early, and, he gets to get the fuck out of here.

It’s not like the night with Lance wasn’t fun or anything, he’s just not sure how they’ll react to each other the morning after, given some of the things that were… revealed.

He cringes.

Once more looking at the pad of paper, he wonders if dignity really matters all that much, especially when he’s about to go through Lance’s kitchen drawers.

His decision is made for him when the bedroom door swings open, and a haggard looking Lance walks through, stretching as he yawns.

Moving right past Keith—who has now frozen, crouched slightly and wide eyed—he opens his fridge and begins to pull out food items. A carton of eggs, some milk, a pepper Keith had no idea was in there, and a few other things all go onto the counter, with Lance still not giving any indication that Keith is there.

“Morning,” he says at last, in a usual, bright Lance fashion.

“Morning?” Keith replies, but it comes out like a question and he cringes again.

“You can stop looking like you’re about to shit yourself on my kitchen floor from being caught trying to sneak out without a goodbye.”

Keith’s head pivots, until he’s staring back at a Lance who watches him with a definitively hung-over look.

“Oh,” he says, articulate.

Lance sighs, scrubbing at his eyes with the palm of one hand. “Just sit down while I make breakfast and then we’ll both feel better.”

Keith nods, knowing if he tried to speak it would just sound stupid again, and moves to sit at the breakfast nook, watching Lance as he moves about the tiny college kitchen with practiced ease.

“Whatcha making?” Keith asks, when his curiosity gets the better of him.

He can feel Lance’s smile, even if he can’t see it. “Omelet. My mama always used to make these for me whenever I got sick as a kid, and I found they work just as well to fix a hangover.”

Keith makes a sound of approval, and then looks around.

“Bathroom is in the bedroom, the door on the left when you first walk in.” Once more, Lance is answering his unspoken questions, and Keith stares at his broad back for a moment, a chorus of, _what the fuck,_ echoing around in his head.

This whole situation should honestly be filed under, _what the fuck._

He finds the bathroom exactly where Lance says, refusing to look around his room. It’s a total invasion of privacy to check out someone’s room without their permission, and Keith had already overstepped some of his own boundaries to be in this situation right now.

The smell of breakfast greets him when he walks back out, and Keith takes a deep inhale. Retrieving his seat, he spins on the rotating chair, going through his messages and social media. Shiro and Adam must have had a damn good time last night because there’s no text from either of them asking where Keith is. Keith isn’t sure how he’s supposed to feel about it, only that he gets that same ugly, bitter taste, and it doesn’t mix well with his current morning breath.

Allura seems to have had fun as well, Lotor being featured all over her social media. There’s a shot of Keith on Lance’s Snapchat as well—something Keith had no idea Lance took. It’s a side view of Keith, looking annoyed as he watches something out of view of the camera, and Lance captioned it, “Valentine’s Days are for the bros” with a beer gif and several hearts around the frame. Keith screenshots it.

By the time he’s caught up on who slept with who last night, a plate is being placed in front of him, and one inhale has Keith convinced he’s died and gone to heaven.

“Taste it,” Lance says with a smirk, and Keith doesn’t hesitate, hangover stomach protesting at the sight of food but the rest of him about to thoroughly enjoy the experience.

“This is so fucking good,” he tells Lance around a mouthful of food, and Lance’s eyes light up, his cheeks dusting a light pink. He’s uncharacteristically surprised.

“I’m glad you like it.”

They eat in silence, and Keith does start to rapidly feel better. By the time his plate is almost clean, Lance breaks their unwitting silence.

“Last night was fun, huh.”

Keith glances up at him to see Lance studying his plate from where he leans against the counter, opposite him.

“Yup.”

“It’s not like, gonna be weird between us or anything, right?”

"Why would it be weird?” Keith asks, knowing exactly why it would be weird.

Lance gives him a look, blue eyes rolling. “Do I need to spell it out for you, Mr. High-Level-Classes?”

Keith shakes his head, taking his time to study his own plate. “If you’re not weird, I’m not weird.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

His breakfast is nearly done, and Keith decides that’s as good of a time to leave as any. “Welp,” he says, pushing away from the nook. “I better get going. Shiro’s probably wondering where I am.”

“Yeah, probably.”

Keith has come around to the front door, and he and Lance look at each other, both knowing something more should be said, both not wanting to be the one to say it.

"Thanks for spending Valentine’s Day with me in a totally bro, platonic way,” Lance says at last.

“Back at you.”

And then Keith’s shoving his feet into his shoes and making a swift exit because holy fuck, is it at all remotely possible to have _one_ normal interaction with Lance?

Apparently not, if this month and a half were anything to go off.

Keith thinks he manages to wince the whole way back to his own apartment.

It’s empty when he gets back, and he strips from yesterday’s clothes with no regards as to who will be home when, flopping down onto his own couch, and falling fast asleep.

~~~

**February 22 nd**

It’s another Friday night, and this time, when Lance extends the invitation to Keith to hang out with him, Keith accepts it.

He figured it would be awkward as all hell after Valentine’s Day, but Lance was unfazed, so therefore, Keith was as well. Class that following Tuesday had gone nicely, the pair joking with ease and Allura looking a little too interested at what had changed between them.

Keith was interested as to what changed between them as well, but he wasn’t about to ask about it. Since that night, they had gone from uneasy friends that occasionally texted and hung out even more rarely, to friends who now had a streak on Snapchat and texted daily. It was like a flip had been switched.

If you had told Keith even a month ago that this was going to happen, he probably would have throttled you for even suggesting him. But—finally—they were the friends that Lance had described initially, and Keith… well, Keith was okay with that.

It meant that he was doing what Shiro asked him to do, and everything felt… better.

Keith had become unlikely friends with Lance—and by association, better friends with Pidge and new friends with Hunk—which was how his Friday night was now being spent with the trio.

Hunk and Lance were playing some game on the TV, Lance with his tongue poking out of his mouth and his legs in the air as he struggled to turn with his character in perfect concentration.

“So…”

“So…”

“Guess you and Lance are friends now.”

“Guess so,” Keith said carefully, glancing over at Pidge, who’s face was perfectly neutral.

"Interesting, interesting,” was all she responded with, and Keith squirmed. She knew too much. She always knew too much.

Hunk cheered as he won whatever game they were playing, and Lance tossed his controller onto the table, pouting.

Keith was content just to be there, with them. Initially, when Lance had offered, Keith was wary, figuring that he would be intruding on their perfect little trio. But it had felt natural, and as the night passed, he was becoming more and more relaxed.

Lance picked up his phone, and then immediately made a noise of panic.

“What is it, buddy?” Hunk asked, who was closest to the now frozen, wide-eyed Lance. He must have read over his shoulder, because then his face fell as well. “Ah, shit.”

“Uh, don’t leave us in the dark,” Pidge said, and Keith glanced over at her again, feeling utterly lost.

“Allura just cancelled on us for spring break,” Lance whined, tossing his phone casually to Pidge. She caught it with ease and read the text over.

“Well, shit.”

“What’s spring break?” Keith asked, the feeling of intrusion finally rearing its ugly head.

Lance sighed, turning to face him. “We were all going to go to the Gulf for it, and Allura was our final person. And our room is booked for a certain number, and if we don’t have that number contributing, we can’t go. It’ll be way too expensive for just the three of us.”

All three looked crestfallen, Lance most of all.

The video game sound track played on a loop in the background, and Pidge was still holding Lance’s phone in her hand. Keith shifted his feet, the out of place feeling growing, when Pidge’s gaze slowly slid over to his, her glasses winking as they caught the light.

_Oh no._

“Keith, what are you doing for spring break?”

Keith thought. He could give them the truth—that he would be staying here, because Shiro was going somewhere with Adam and Keith didn’t want to visit his adoptive parents without Shiro—or he could make up a lie, that he was doing something fun, just like they were. Or, should have been.

“Nothing,” he admitted with a sigh.

Her gaze on him sharpened. “Do you want to come with us then? Since we have an open spot and we really need someone to fill it.”

Keith stilled, eyes only on Pidge. “I don’t—I don’t want to intrude on your vacation, it’d be weird—”

“Not at all!” Hunk exclaimed, and Keith turned his focus to him. “Dude, that would be perfect! You should totally come!”

“Are you sure!”

“Absolutely,” said Pidge.

Keith stuffed his hands in his jean’s pockets. It would be nice, to do something, and he liked Pidge and Hunk and Lance well enough. He didn’t do anything last year, and Shiro was always on him about making friends with other people his age. This counted as friend making. Money shouldn’t be a problem—he saved everything he made that didn’t go directly to college or food.

“Lance? What are your thoughts on it?”

Because Lance was the only one who hadn’t spoken. In fact, he’d gone rather still, head cocked as he watched Keith.

“If you want to come, then come,” he said evenly, lacking the enthusiasm the other two held. But it was enough that Hunk cheered again, shouting about how much fun this would be now that Keith was going. Keith appreciated the big guy; he really did. No one else had welcomed Keith as readily as he had, not even Shiro, and it was a nice, soft feeling that bloomed in Keith every time he hung out with him. Granted, it had been a total of three times, but it was nice.

“Then it’s settled,” Pidge said. “Keith will take Allura’s spot, and we can still all go on spring break together.”

A cheer went up, and Keith briefly locked eyes with Lance, who looked like he was on another planet.

There was no way for any of them—not even Pidge, who knew too much—to realize that this trip would change things. No, all they knew was that this was going to be the best spring break ever.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmm i wonder what spring break will entail... 
> 
> anyways. this is about 5k longer than it was meant to be sooo...
> 
> thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!! This is probably my favorite fic that i've ever written, so if you could rec it to someone else you think might enjoy it, it would make my whole life. Until next time loves, and as always, comments and kudos are the drug that keeps me writing. Also, if you ever have any questions about this work or any of my others (or just wanna chat) check me out @:  
> tumblr: blondeslytherin  
> insta: blondeslyterine


	3. March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's March, and that means spring break, drinking, and some revelations...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gahh i'm sorry this took me so long to get out, but as always, thank you to @Softe_Gays for beta reading <3
> 
> hope you enjoy ;)

**March 2 nd **

The last few days of February blew by, and Keith barely registered any of them. He was going on spring break—god he really _was_ becoming a cliché—with Pidge and Hunk and… and Lance. He was going to be spending an entire week in close quarters with Lance. Keith wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that little, itsy bitsy, ginormous fact.

Because it was a massive fucking fact no matter how small it seemed. Yeah, him and Lance were getting along better than they had at the beginning of January and Hunk had practically adopted him the minute he walked in the door, and Pidge—Pidge was Pidge. Those two, sure, fine, great. Keith would gladly spend spring break with them, even if he didn’t really know them all that well.

But it was Lance. Lance mother-fucking McClain. Lance, who used his textbook to prop up his bed; Lance, who flirted with everything that walked; Lance the boy he was barely friends with. Lance mother-fucking McClain, New Year’s Douche, the boy who was just starting to grow on him.

And spring break was going to ruin it all. Keith could handle Lance in small doses, i.e., the class periods spent rolling his eyes and the study sessions that were weirdly helpful. Seven days of pure, unfiltered Lance, in nothing but some board shorts and most definitely muscled under that top? Keith was reconsidering spending the time with Shiro and Adam instead.

It was Friday, his last class of the day before they would be boarding a plane and flying to Florida, with every other spring-breaker in the world. It had taken a rush of days to try and reconfigure everything for Keith to be able to go—buying a plane ticket, making sure that Shiro would be okay with it, packing. All things that Keith had never really considered and then found himself struggling when he needed to begin to do it.

The path was familiar under his feet as he made his way back to his apartment, bag over one shoulder and hands stuffed in his pockets. A wind had swept through the whole country earlier this year, and while it hadn’t really touched Arizona, it was colder than he was used to, to the point where the hoodie was practically a necessity. Florida would be nice and warm though. Probably. Hopefully. God it better fucking be warm, he wasn’t paying this much to suffer inside with the chills for spring break.

Lance was waiting for him at his door when Keith arrived, and he rolled his eyes in response when he saw him standing there.

“You know this makes you look like a total creep, right?” Keith asked as he shouldered past him, digging out his keys and unlocking the door.

Lance rolled his eyes as well, but there was less annoyance than Keith had shown. “Can’t bring me down today, mullet. Because from this day on, it’s bikinis, martinis, and sunshine baby!” he crowed as he followed Keith in, Keith swinging his bag down to the ground next to the table.

“You’re going to wear a bikini? I always knew you had a feminine side.”

Lance choked on air behind him and Keith grinned, making his way into his bedroom. The footsteps didn’t follow. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it!” _Yeah, okay_. “And for the record, I could pull anything off!”  
“Don’t make a bet you know you’re going to lose,” Keith responded as he picked up his duffle bag and secondary backpack,

When he reemerges into the kitchen, Lance is leaning against the wall that marks the division between the kitchen and the living area, looking indignant and smug at the same time.

“Try me,” he says.

_Fucking hell._ There are so, so many ways Keith can take this—so many that he’s tempted to go with the first idea on impulse because of how embarrassing it would be. But the desire to be insulting wins.

“You can’t pull of silence.”

Lance opens his mouth—already about to prove Keith’s point—and then audibly shuts it, teeth clacking.

He’s brimming with words; it’s clear as the Arizona sky. And it’s the funniest fucking thing Keith has ever seen.

“There we go,” he says, and can’t help the grin. “Let’s see how long this lasts. And you were right, this is a good look on you.”

Keith rifles through his original backpack, pulling out small things here and there while Lance fumes silently from his position. It’s too entertaining.

“So, how long do you think this flight will be? And where are we going again? Somewhere on the Gulf, right? That’s Florida?”

Lane nods, blue eyes like hellfire. Keith hums.

“Probably long. It better be warm, not putting up with your ass for a week of cold.”

The blue burns hotter.

“You know, I bet the ladies sure would love it if you were in a bikini. Make them feel better about themselves and all, with your lack of an ass—”

“Enough!” Lance shouts, sides heaving. “God, why are you such an ass?”

The tension in the room went from playful to uneasy in the matter of a sentence. “Hey man, I was just teasing you,” Keith says, defensive.

Lance huffs and rolls his eyes, but there’s no humor in the movement now. “Just fuck off.”

“Do you even want me going?” Keith fires back before he can stop himself. It’s a question that’s been bothering him since the weird look on Lance’s face when the idea was initially proposed, and a nagging worry that’s been festering for too long.

Lance’s jaw works. “We invited you, didn’t we?”

“I asked you. Not plural, just you.”

He’s silent for a beat too long. “Yeah,” he eventually says, lacking any sort of conviction.

“That’s so convincing, thanks Lance.”

Lance whirls on him. “Listen. I showed up to your door, I helped you do all your shit to get ready for this, and I’ve done nothing but try. Now _what_ is your damn fucking problem with me today?”  
Keith steps back. Physically steps away.

And realizes that Lance is right. What is his goddamn problem today?

“I—” Lance’s blazing eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ve not ever done something like this before. It’s nerves,” he says quietly, shamefully, feeling like the dick he was called out to be.

Blue simmers down. “What are you, scared?” There. There’s the teasing tone that doesn’t feel painful.

Keith snorts, nerves gone. “Never.”

And then Lance picks up one of Keith’s bags and chatters with him the whole way down to the waiting Lyft, talking about just how much he would have pulled off that bikini.

Keith lets him, and sometimes gets a word in, mainly doesn’t. The entire ride to the airport where they plan on meeting Hunk and Pidge and Lance’s luggage feels too long, and the Lyft driver looks glad to be rid of them when they get there. Pidge and Hunk get to hear Lance’s version of events from his encounter with Keith, and Pidge shoots Keith a glance that says she believes none of Lance’s bullshit. Lance doesn’t shut up until he’s knocked out by an Ambien on the flight, and even then, just about everyone else is conked out as well.

The weird tension digs under Keith’s skin, burrows into his chest like a vole. He didn’t like the way earlier felt, even though they’d had arguments nearly identical—if not more intense—before.

Silence really isn’t a good look on Lance.

~~~

The airport is sluggish and too warm after a long flight. Five hours was too long, and Keith wants nothing more than to stretch out _away_ from strangers that drool and invade your seat. Because of when he bought his ticket, there were no more seats near Lance and them, meaning he was stuck in the very back, with a drool heavy man and a woman that shot him glances every eight seconds. Yes, Keith did in fact count how long it was in between glances, and the average number was eight.

Even the thick air that is Florida felt better than whatever the fuck was happening on the plane.

Lance yawns, eyes scrunching and mouth turning at the corners as he stretches, Pidge doing the same. Only Hunk looks awake, and that was probably because he spent the better part of the flight trying not to throw up. _Poor guy,_ Keith thinks with a wince. He hopes he doesn’t have to sit next to him for the flight back.

“All I want to do is get our luggage and go to bed,” Hunk groans as they make their way through the airport, through security and the rather thorough pat down Keith received, and are now waiting at the luggage claim.

“Fat mood,” Pidge grunts from where she’s leaning her entire body weight against Lance, the latter unperturbed by the way he’s being used.

“Oh, c’mon guys, where’s your sense of adventure?” Lance asks, the only one of them awake after his restful nap. “We’ve only got a week to get drunk and dance dirty, and you don’t wanna start tonight?”

“We’ve got a week,” Pidge replies, throwing his words back at him, muffled by the way her face is pressed into Lance. “Let’s start tomorrow night.”

Lance pouts, and Keith briefly considers agreeing to whatever fucked up plan he has for getting drunk tonight but the minute his duffle bag comes into view he wants nothing more than to sleep wherever he can.

Lance is still whining about something behind him as they all grab their luggage and begin to make their way out of the airport. Keith texts Shiro that they’ve landed and are on their way to the hotel and shuts his phone off before he can get a reply.

The windows are cracked as they make their way to the hotel, and Keith takes a deep breath in. It had been some time since he’s been on the coast—or any major body of water, really—and he forgot how much he missed the smell of the water. His dad had taken him a few times before everything happened, and Keith remembers those days with a soft melancholy.

A warm breath in his ear startles him. “How you doin, mullet?”  
“Fine,” he says, shifting away from the body that is Lance.

Lance stays where he is. “God, I love the coast. Reminds me of home.”

It’s an opening. An opening to talk about where home is, what home means to Lance. Why the ocean is what smells like home.

Keith doesn’t take it; giving a small hum in reply.

The car falls quiet.

Pidge and Hunk had been chattering away about something before everything had fallen into that peaceful sort of silent, when it’s late at night and talking feels like too much. They’re steadily approaching midnight and Keith thought he wanted to sleep, but the moonlight on the ocean has his attention. It’s just a faint glimmer from the crescent, but the water catches it and toys with it to make everything feel like a movie scene.

It feels like summer, what summer was always supposed to feel like. Even if it’s only March, even if they’re on spring break, it feels like a taste of what he’ll get if this keeps happening.

Keith likes it.

The hotel approaches and the clerk looks dead in the eyes as she hands over four room keys, and Lance gives her a small little wink that has Keith gagging.

“Must you flirt with everything that identifies as female?” he mutters under his breath as they walk down the hall of floor four, and he doesn’t think anyone can hear him, let alone Lance.

Until Lance replies with, “and anything male, as well.”

It’s a cheeky comeback that makes his cheeks red, and Keith is glad for the blast of cool air when they walk into their room.

“I call sleeping with Hunk!” Lance shouts with more energy than any of them have combined, flopping down on the closest bed and wrapping his arms around the nearest pillow. Hunk groans. “Buddy, I love you, but if you make it dirty, I’m not sharing a bed with you.”

“No homo,” comes Lance’s reply from where he’s buried his face in the captured pillow.

Pidge looks over her shoulder at Keith. “No homo,” they say at the exact same time. And then Keith realizes. “Wait, actually, full homo. I’m fully homo. No hetero.”

Pidge nods, a tiredly approving face. “There you go. Took you long enough.”

“Pidge, I literally responded instantly after that was said.” But his words go unheard as they all begin to move slower, dragged down by the freedom of no classes for a week and the long plane ride.

Soon enough, they’re all pulling on pajamas and climbing into their shared beds—Pidge making a very clear division with pillows in the middle—and one by one, nodding off.

Keith knows he’s the last one awake gauging by the snores coming from all directions, and it’s not an unfamiliar feeling. Years in the system has taught him that sleep isn’t more important than the few belongings that he had, so he learned to function as a lightweight with other people. After all these years, and the weight of that time still lingers.

Keith isn’t sure what finally pulls him under, only that he’s sincerely wishing _someone_ had closed the blinds before they went to bed so they’re not being woken up at ass o’clock when the sun rises.

But it doesn’t really matter, because it’s Saturday.

Spring Break has officially begun.

~~~

**March 3 rd**

It’s not the sun that wakes Keith up at ass o’clock; it’s Lance.

“Good morning!” sings a voice with way too much energy, followed by at least two other groans. Keith blinks open two weary eyes, crusted over with the remnants of sleep, and a stiff neck. His pillow had fallen off at some point during the night, and he blindly reaches out a sleepy arm to search for it.

“What time is it?” Hunk grumbles from his bed, sounding exactly like Keith feels.

“8 am sharp, people!”

Another round of groans goes up around the room, and Keith adds one this time too.

“Lance, you do realize that I’m awake earlier than any of my morning colleges? And that this is spring break?” The final part of Pidge’s sentence is said with a growl to her words, and Keith flicks his eyes over to see her small form entirely under a blanket.

Lance scoffs. “Yeah, exactly. It’s _spring break._ And we’re at a beach, and everyone knows that the party starts right away.”

Hunk says something under his breath that sounds like a rejection of that statement, but Keith is too busy wrapping his fingers around his missing pillow. In one swift move, he brings it up and over his head, and then chucks it at Lance. The pillow hits him in the face with a soft _thump_ and a shriek of outrage.

“Hey!”

“That’s for waking me at ass o’clock.”

“It’s 8 am!”

“I have to say I agree with Keith here.”

“The pillow throw was a little unnecessary, though.”

“I’m just trying to make sure that everyone has a good time!”

“Then let me fucking sleep!”

Hunk sighs loud enough that everyone shuts up, fuming for different reasons.

_What a wonderful start to spring break,_ Keith thinks bitterly to himself. _So much better than lounging around an empty apartment doing absolutely nothing._

“Alright. Lance, uncool for waking us all up this early, but I am glad that you didn’t go off without any of us. Keith, the pillow throw was unnecessary but trust me when I say I understand. Pidge—you’ve not done anything wrong, but you’re definitely at risk of suffocating under that blanket. Keith doesn’t have cooties, so you can come out of there,” Hunk says, ever the peace maker. He has two fingers to each temple and looks like he isn’t as thrilled with Lance as his tone might imply.

Lance is pouting, one hand hanging down by his side and the other wrapped around the opposite bicep. He’s already sporting swim trunks and a loose tank top, with _beach babe_ written across it in cursive. Keith’s eyes lazily track over his form before he accidentally catches Lance’s eye and realizes what he was doing. His gaze snaps over to where Hunk is slowly getting out of bed.

“Lance, I know you have a plan for today, but before we do anything, I need breakfast, otherwise I might just murder you all.”  
~~~

It’s 10:13 by the time they do manage to make it to the beach, and the sun is already burning down on them. Keith squints, wishing he had thought to pack sunglasses, when a pair is wordlessly passed to him.

He glances from the sunglasses to the hand attached and finally to the tan face. Lance waits expectantly, his arm not faltering as they walk, and Keith gives him a small head nod as he takes them, eyes no longer burning when the shade surrounds his vision.

The sand is warm and hot, soft under his flip flops and causing his feet to shift in either direction every time he takes a step. A towel slung around his shoulders and a draw string bag on his back make him blend in with the other hordes of people already enjoying themselves, and Keith’s eyes scan the beach, looking for an open spot.

It’s warm, and the air is dry, and Keith doesn’t hate it.

Lance takes off ahead of them, already having picked out a spot, and Pidge trudges behind him, small legs and nimble body allowing her to easily spin through the other people.

Hunk ends up falling into step beside Keith, giving him a toothy grin. His own tan skin looks even darker under the mere exposure to sunlight, and he looks at home here on the beach.

“How are you liking it so far?”

Keith shrugs. “It’s a beach.”

Hunk gives him a long look, sun cutting overhead and shading his eyes from Keith. “That’s really all you have to say? It’s a beach?”

Keith shrugs again, shifting uncomfortably as the sand gets harder to walk in. He should really take of his shoes. “I’ve been to one before. Sand looks the same everywhere.”

Hunk snorts. “I guess so.”

“Why? Should I feel differently about a beach?”

“Guess not,” Hunk says at last, picking up his pace a little to meet Lance, and Keith is left feeling like he missed something important.

By the time he manages to catch up to the group, Lance already has his beach chair out, and is in the middle of stripping out of his tank top.

And Keith freezes where he is.

A flash of washboard abs turns into a full on view of washboard abs, that same tan skin looking smooth and even in the sun. A light trail of hair lines the path from his naval down to his shorts, and Keith distantly notes that it’s just slightly darker than the hair on Lance’s head. His lean figure looks toned, lanky limbs no longer looking so lanky.

“You okay there, mullet?”

His words snap Keith’s attention back up to a concerned and flushed face, and Keith swallows thickly. “It’s hot,” is what ends up coming out of his mouth.

Pidge starts to snicker but is quickly covered by a pseudo-cough. Hunk mutters something under his breath, and Keith feels like he missed something important for the second time.

“Let’s get this beach on!” Lance cheers, not bothering to put sunscreen on before he’s slipping out of his sandals and racing down the to the water. Hunk sets his stuff down a bit more carefully and takes his time to slather his arms in sunscreen before joining his best friend. Pidge, on the other hand, covers her whole body in extra-protection sunscreen, and then sits down in the chair Lance set up with a large floppy hat covering half her face, pulling a book out of her bag.

Keith watches the three of them for a long moment, weighing his options, before laying out his towel and pulling a book out of his own bag, stuffing the shirt he’s taken off into the space left behind.

Pidge wordlessly passes him the sunscreen, and he wonders if all his communications with the trio are going to involve a silent understanding. He then immediately rejects this idea, remembering who’s at the heart of their group.

The sun beams down, and despite the loud laughter from all around him and the seagulls cawing overhead, Keith feels…

_Like he belongs._

… at peace.

~~~

He’s not sure when he falls asleep, only that he’s painfully awoken when a toe to the ribs knocks the wind out of him.

“What the _fuck_ ,” he wheezes, shooting up and placing a hand on his side. His sunglasses are skewed on his face and his skin feels stiff and for a hot moment he doesn’t really know where he is, but when it all comes back to him, he’s glaring up at a cheeky grin and a deep tan.

“Lance,” he growls, and Lance dances away from him.

“You’ve been asleep for like two hours dude. I didn’t want you to miss all the fun.”

_What fun?_ is on the tip of his tongue, but the words die when a hand reaches down to help him up.

“Come on,” Lance says before Keith can object, “the ocean will help cool you off.” And then he’s gracelessly being tugged to his feet, and Keith follows in a daze down the surf, where frothy water crashes and the smell of salt is the strongest.

“Uhhh…” Keith says, beginning to resist the pull Lance has on him. “I don’t really do the ocean.”

Lance glances back at him, and for a moment, Keith thinks that his blue eyes literally sparkle. And then he wonders if he has heat stroke or something. “What, scared mullet?”

The three words are enough to push him forward, surging past Lance and up to his ankles in the water. “Not at all,” he calls over his shoulder, where Lance is letting out a light laugh.

“Hey Hunk, look who’s joined us!”

“Hey man! Oh, that’s a wicked burn!”

Lance is at his side as they continue to wade out, Keith twisting so that a wave lands on his side instead of his chest. The cool water does help, shimmering blue and green, pieces of seaweed floating a little further out.

Hunk is making long strokes to meet them, and Keith’s attention is caught on the way Lance moves gracefully through the water, like he was born to be here. It’s so caught that he doesn’t notice the wave until it’s knocking him off his feet, sucking him under, pulling his feet up and pushing his head down.

His cheeks puff and his eyes squeeze shut as he fights to get back to the surface, tumbling along with the surf until he’s thrown against the bottom, rough sand scraping at his skin and then he’s been heaved up, breaking the surface and sucking in a deep breath of air.

He coughs, spluttering, eyes burning and dazed. He’s back at the shoreline, his shorts feel like they’re full of half the sand on the beach, and everything in him hurts.

But what hurts the most is the loud laugher coming from in front of him.

Lance is doubled over, hands to his abdomen, laughing so hard that tears are streaming down his face. He still manages to bob along with the waves, and Keith glares at him, mortified. Hunk is beside him and looks a little more sympathetic, but there’s still a slight grin on his face.

“That—that was a total—that was a total fucking wipeout,” Lance wheezes in between laughs. His words spur another round of laughter, and he doesn’t look like he’s breathing at this point.

“Fuck you,” Keith hisses, standing up and wincing as he feels sand slide from his butt and down his legs. He wades a little further out—just far enough to wash the worst of the sand out—and then he’s making his way back up to dry land, ignoring the calls behind him, half-assed apologies still scattered with laughter.

Pidge wisely says nothing as he flops down onto his towel, and Keith resolves to stay there for the rest of the day.

The rest of the day ends up being until 5:30, when the lifeguards have left, and the beach had begun to steadily clear out. Keith had only brought minimal snacks with him, not expecting to be here this late, and his stomach is grumbling.

It grumbles all the way back up the beach, each of them tired but grinning, and it grumbles—quite loudly—in the elevator back up to their room. He can feel the side-eyes being thrown his way, and he crosses his arms as if that will drown out the noise. He’s hungry, okay?

“I want first shower,” Pidge says the minute they walk into the room, immediately going over to her suitcase and pulling out her toiletries bag.

“But you didn’t even go in the ocean!” Hunk protests, but it’s clear he’s not going to fight her on it, not really anyways.

“I’m a girl, so therefore, dibs.”

And then the bathroom door snicks shut, the lock clicks, and the shower starts running.

Hunk settles down into the chair tucked in the corner of the room and Keith longs to flop into his bed, but he’s still grimy from the ocean, and oh, has his stomach mentioned, _hungry_?

Lance is rummaging in his suitcase while Keith stands, undecided, until Lance makes his decision for him.

“Keith and I are gonna go grab food for the group,” he says, moving to stand next to Keith while Keith sends him a glance, one eyebrow raised.

“Us?”

“Yeah, us. You look like you’re about to eat me if you don’t get real food soon.”

“Don’t you want to shower first? You were in the ocean for most of today.”

Lance shakes his head. “Nah, I’m used to the salt on my skin. Kind of reminds me of home, and the summers I spent with my siblings.”

There’s that mention of home again, of summer and memories; an invitation, if only Keith would take it. The moment is interrupted when his stomach makes another loud noise, and he decides that yeah, food sounds pretty damn good.

When they walk out, he notices the way Lance’s hair has curled at the edges from the ocean, notices the way his freckles pop brighter against his cheekbones and across his nose. Notices that there’s a faint scar along his bicep, thin and white. Notices.

Lance glances over, and Keith snaps his gaze forward.

He doesn’t notice the way Lance subtly shifts closer, or the way he stares at him in the reflection of the elevator, doesn’t notice the way Lance seems more… alive.

He does notice how good the pizza they get is, and the way the shower feels on his sunburnt skin, and the way he can’t reach all the way down his back with the aloe vera. He doesn’t notice the way Lance’s eyes linger on him when he does so, when they’re the only ones left in the room as Pidge and Hunk enjoy the night on their tiny little balcony.

But there, unnoticed by anyone, is the cusp of change.  

~~~

**March 5 th **

The next two days pass in a similar fashion to the first, with Keith’s skin slowly becoming acclimated to the sun. The burn hurts less now, and it almost seems like he has the beginnings of a tan.

But then Lance decides they’re going to a beach bonfire party with the rest of the spring-breakers.

Pidge opts out immediately, claiming that she’s seen Lance drunk enough and doesn’t want to see it on a beach. Hunk reluctantly agrees, looking longingly at his bed before trudging to the bathroom to change.

Lance’s blue eyes focus in on Keith, and there’s already a challenge in them. Keith has been to exactly two parties in his life, and he’s hated both of them. Too many drunk people vomiting and passing out, too many bad memories. His throat still burns at the mere thought of Nunvil; his face still heats when he thinks of Lance that night, and their idea to try again.

He really doesn’t want to go to another party with Lance.

But that challenge is still in his eyes and Keith knows there’s no way he can get out of this without judgement, and, after all, he is here to have fun. Deep in his mind, he knows parties aren’t fun, but something closer to the surface is screaming at him to go.

So, with the same reluctance as Hunk, he agrees, and Lance lets out a whopping cheer, the same blue sparkle in his eyes that make Keith pause.

But when he remerges after going to the bathroom to change, that sparkle is gone, but the tension between them feels like a string pulled taut, and Keith can practically feel the anticipation of what’s to come tonight. What’s going to end up happening, he has no idea, but that same something deep inside tells him this party won’t be like the rest.

~~~  
Lance is dressed in a tight black shirt with board shorts to match, the perfect attire for the perfect beach boy. His brown hair still curls around the edges but there’s a fire in his eyes that Keith hasn’t seen before. Hunk has relaxed too, loosening up as their feet slip in the sand down to the bonfire raging in the dark.

His eyes begin to burn as they get closer, both from the heat and the light, and Keith has to stop away from the rest in order to let himself adjust. All around him are college kids of various ages, and if he squints, he thinks he sees some high schoolers in the mix, pretending to be older than they really are and only mildly succeeding.

Laughter bubbles around him, and he immediately looses Lance and Hunk to the throng. The fire dances in front of him, and Keith watches it for a long moment, head empty, feeling like he’s somewhere else.

“Hey man!”

Keith turns his head away from the flames to see a guy about his age, Hawaiian shirt open wide and board shorts clinging to his leg. One hand holds a red solo cup and the other is outstretched toward Keith. “Did you just get here?” he asks with a blinding white smile.

“Yup,” Keith answers, watching him warily. The stranger doesn’t seem too intoxicated, but Keith isn’t ready to start mingling. Did Hunk and Lance really have to disappear so quickly.

“Why don’t I get you a drink?” Another blinding white smile. “Follow me,” before Keith can reject the offer.

They trudge across the sand, and the boy in front of him slips nimbly through the crowd, never losing his footing on the sand and still managing to take long swigs out of his steadily emptying cup.

There’s a long set up tables set up, mimicking a wet bar, and the guy easily pours himself another drink, and then a second one for Keith. Keith watches him, still undecided on his drinking status, when the cup is suddenly thrust into his hand and the guy is once more in his space. This time, though, his face is close to his ear, his mouth just ghosting along the shell of it, and Keith shivers when he whispers. “Cheers.”

Half his cup is downed in one go, and cheers go up around him. The alcohol hits his stomach immediately, soothing his nerves enough that he’s able to lean in and ask the guy’s name.

“Justin,” the guy—Justin—says back smoothly, another white smile along with it.

“Keith,” he supplies in return.

“Well, Keith, here’s to a fun night.”

The rest of his cup goes down easily, and then he’s on a second and everything feels looser, warmer. Whether it’s the heat of the fire or the alcohol in his system or even the way Justin presses up against his back, Keith feels warm. Keith feels alive.

He’s dancing, and as the present song fades into the next, he catches a glance of Lance, now lacking his tight black shirt—replaced by one similar to the one the boy pressed against his ass wears. He’s laughing, a tan arm wrapped around the waist of a pretty girl, and even from here Keith can see the way her eyes glimmer at him.

A swirl of something digs deep into his gut, and Keith watches them until the crowd swallows the pair up, and Justin is leaning into his ear again.

“You alright there, sweetheart?”

“Just fine.”

A jello shot tray passes by, and Keith snags one without even thinking. It goes down easily, all cherry and vodka. A second one chases the first, and Justin laughs, hot and heavy, and Keith feels the urge to dance. To dance and to drink and be a college kid for the first time in his fucking life. This is a party—and he’s determined to make this one good. Tonight is his night.

He dances, grinds against the pretty boy behind him, listens to the music and feels the beat distantly.

He dances, and he laughs, and he drinks.

God does he drink.

He’s lost track of how many shots he’s taken, how many times he’s had his cup refilled. He’s deep within the crowd now, feels the people all around him. Feels Lance somewhere near, wrapped around another girl who touches his chest and laughs at his stupid pickup lines. And he’s too drunk to care.

Until Justin leans in, fingers wrapped around his waist and mouth against the shell of his ear again. “Why don’t we get out of here? My roommates are gone for the night.” There’s an insistent press against his ass, and for a split second, Keith wants to say yes.

But then the damn crowd parts and he sees Lance, sees blue eyes somehow still clear in the dark, sees the pretty girl draped over him and the strained smile on his face. But the moment their eyes meet, the smile slips off Lance’s face entirely, and Keith stills.

That taut cord he felt earlier is back, straight as an arrow between them.

And Keith—Keith has no idea what it means or even what it is.

But he’s saying yes to Justin.

He’s saying yes and he can practically feel the grin against his neck, feels those fingers tighten and a firm push against his ass.

He’s being pulled through the crowd and Lance is gone in an instant and he’s stumbling, vision swimming and suddenly he can’t think at all. How much has he had to drink tonight?

There’s an elevator in his hotel before he knows it, and he’s laughing as he trips, fingers wrapping around firm biceps to save his fall. That blinding white smile meets his again, and he’s warm and fuzzy and there’s no thought in his head other than how much he doesn’t want this.

But the fingers around him are tight and he’s too fuzzy to know much else other than the moment and the way the elevator sways under them. They’re going up, up, up, and then back down again.

The doors are opening, and there’s Lance.

“Lance!” he slurs before he can stop himself.

“You know this guy?” Lance’s voice is tight behind his own forced smile, hands shoved nonchalantly in his pockets.

“This ‘s Justin,” Keith says, jerking his head in the direction of the other warm body in the space. Everything is so goddamn warm. He wonders if it’s still his sunburn.

_Sunburn. That’s a funny word._

He’s giggling, and he can feel both looking at him, but there’s no stopping him now.

“Don’t you think he’s a little too drunk?”

“Don’t you think it’s his choice?”

The elevator doors start to close, but Lance wedges a foot in, smile still in place, and it all stops again.

_Did Lance always look like that?_

“Well, what do you say, Keith?” Lance’s blue eyes are hard when he asks, and there’s that distant cord again.

“I think—” Keith starts, and then stops, frowning. What does he think?

Lance’s face softens. “I think you need to sleep it off. Come on buddy.” The foot he’s wedged into the door turns into a full body, and Lance is joining them in the elevator, pressing their floor number.

Justin still has a grip on Keith, and he can feel the hardness of his torso against his chest. He’s swaying, and Lance is close, and Justin is close and god is he drunk.

“Wha about th’ girl?” Keith asks, not looking at Lance. He doesn’t have to see him to feel the way he starts at the question.

“Don’t worry about her.”

Justin harrumphs above him, and Keith presses more firmly into him. Fucking Lance, always there to ruin his fun.

His eyes are closed when they finally jerk to a halt at their floor, the doors sliding slowly open.

“Do you really wanna go with him?” Justin asks in a low voice.

_Yes._

The immediate gut reaction serves just enough to sober him up, just a little. He nods, and the warm, strong fingers are releasing him, and he’s stumbling back, but not for long until Lance’s weight is pressed solidly into his back.   
“How about I find you tomorrow?” Justin says, but there’s no time for Keith to give an answer before the doors are closing and Justin is gone.

Lance immediately steps back and Keith tumbles. Heavy footsteps stalk away from him and Keith attempts to follow, one hand braced on the wall to keep him upright.

The door to their room opens and stays open, with Lance on the other side.

“Are you coming or not, dumbass?” comes the growl.

Keith feels a retort on the tip of his tongue, but a wave of nausea washes it away. Mustering all his strength, he walks through the door without tipping over, and damn if he’s not proud of himself for that.

The door shuts with more force behind him than necessary, and then Lance is in front of him, hands on his hips, angry.

Keith snickers at his drawn brow and serious face.

“How much have you had to drink tonight?”

“Jus’ ya know, a few shots,” he mumbles. Lance waits. “And a few drinks. But tha’s all.”

“I leave you for thirty seconds to go and get us drinks and I come back to you grinding on some random fuckwad.”

Keith laughs, bitter. “Don’t be a… a… fuck, what’s the word? I saw you doing it with that girl, too.”

Lance’s eyes flash. “I’m surprised you could see at all, given how wrapped up you were in that dude.”

“Don’t even pretend that you weren’t going down there to find some random hook up.”

“This isn’t like you, Keith. You’re drunk.”

“Fuck, just leave me alone, Lance! You’re not responsible for me and I know you don’t want me here. I’m just trying to have a decent time, and you’re constantly ruining it.”

“Me? _Me_?” Lance cries, outraged.

“Yes, you!” Keith shouts back, feeling sick to his stomach and a pounding in his head.

They stare at each other, each breathing heavily.

“Did you kiss him?” Lance asks at last.

“No.”

“Good.”

“Why do you care?”

“Just wanted to make sure that you were still holding up what you said. That you don’t kiss strangers.”

“You sound jealous.”

“Trust me, I’m not,” Lance fires back.

“Then why are you so hung up on me and that guy?”

“Why are you so hung up on me and that girl?”

They’re still staring at each other when Lance takes a small step forward.

“Keith,” Lance says, and it sounds pained.

The rest of the room is at an angle now, but Lance is in sharp clarity. Lance, and his stupid blue eyes, and his stupid smile, and chiseled chest looking so unbelievably touchable.

Lance.

God, he must be so drunk right now.

But they’re stumbling toward each other, and tan hands are on his face and a warm breath is so close to his own.

The last thing Keith remembers is a hesitant, _please,_ and he has no idea which one of them it comes from.

And then he blacks out.

~~~

**March 6 th**

Keith wakes with a pounding headache, legs tangled in the sheets and sick to his stomach. He barely makes it to their small bathroom before he’s retching into the toilet, throat burning and sides heaving.

He throws up twice before he rocks back on his heels, closing his eyes and trying to get his headache to subside with sheer force of will.

As he sits there, head leaning against the porcelain rim, he attempts to sort through the events that happened last night.

He remembers the party, and the guy pressed up against him, and the first few drinks that were given to him. What was his name? Jackson?

He remembers Jackson dancing with him, and the way it felt so good. He remembers Lance, with the girl, but what she looked like is fuzzy now.

He remembers an elevator and something like a fight.

And then he remembers getting close to Lance.

But nothing after that.

A soft knock on the door disrupts his thoughts and has him turning his head to look at the doorknob, almost afraid to see it turn. “You okay in there buddy?” a gentle voice asks. Lance’s gentle voice.

“All good,” he croaks. His throat feels dry and he can still taste the vomit in his mouth.

“Alrighty,” the voice says reluctantly.

Keith stands slowly, spots dotting his vision as his head pounds harder. He hasn’t been that drunk in a while. He washes out his mouth with the mouthwash conveniently located, and rests against the counter for a long moment before he’s turning to the door and opening it slowly.

Lance jerks back from where he was leaning against it, his tan cheeks ever so faintly pink. “I heard you throw up. You all good?”

Keith shrugs. “Just had too much to drink, I guess.”

Lance grimaces. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Both boys fall still.

“You don’t remember?” Lance asks carefully, eyes roving over Keith’s face.

“Remember what? The last thing I recall, we were in the room, and I think we were fighting, and then…” he trails off, a vivid memory frighteningly clear about what comes next. “We didn’t—” he coughs, “we didn’t kiss, right?”

Lance’s face is still. Only his eyes are moving, tracking Keith’s expression. He’s not sure what he finds, but Lance murmurs, “nah, you kind of collapsed in my arms and that’s when I decided it was time for you to sleep it off.”

There’s something about his tone that nags at Keith, but he’s too hung over to care. “That would have been weird. Sorry about that; Drunk Keith can be super clingy.”

“No worries,” Lance replies easily, and then he’s stepping away from the doorway and into their room. “We’ve got a full day planned, so get rid of that hangover and let’s go.”

The plans end up being shopping at the local outlets, and of course, more beach time. The ocean is a different shade of teal where they are, and though geographically they aren’t all that far from the beach they’re staying on, this one just feels… different.

By the time night falls, Keith is ready to go back to their hotel and sleep off the rather large dinner they ate, but Pidge is rather adamantly insisting on mini-golf. “You guys all went to the party last night. It’s my turn to pick what we do.”

“Didn’t you end up at the party though?” Hunk asks, looking bemused.

Pidge silences him with a sharp smack, and Lance and Keith exchange a glance. He still has a residual headache, and thoughts of Jacob are still dancing around his head. In the end, they do finally choose one of the many mini-golf places, and Keith agrees to play for the sake of Pidge, and not at all because Lance looks genuinely excited.

“This is a kid’s game,” he murmurs in a low voice so that only Lance hears him.

The other boy quirks a brow at him. “Where’s your sense of fun, Mr. Broody Pants? Mini-golf is for everyone.”

They pick out their balls and their putters and make their way to the first hole. Unsurprisingly, Pidge sinks her first shot in two swings.

Hunk goes next, and it takes him four to get his ball in the hole. Keith feels a touch of sympathy at the disappointed look on his face as he recalls his own score.

Lance, shimmying past Keith, places his ball gently on the ground and sticking his ass in the air. Above him, Keith rolls his eyes, and Pidge fake-gags in return. A grin touches his lips, but he quickly replaces it with a scowl when Lance turns with a smug smile toward him. “Watch this,” he says. A small shift of his feet and then his putter is swinging back, hitting the ball dead on. It skips over the green, bounces off a back wall, and lands directly in the hole.

“Make that one for Lance!” he calls happily. “O-N-E!”

“I can spell, Lance,” Pidge grumbles as he skips over to pick out his ball and stand proudly on the sidelines.

Keith makes sure that he sees the eye roll this time as he drops his ball to the ground. Looking at it, and then the hole, he brings his putter back to what he thinks is the right angle, and swings.

It misses by nearly a mile.

Lance guffaws immediately and Keith feels his face heat up in a way that doesn’t have anything to do with his residual sunburn. “That was just a practice swing,” he mutters, shifting his feet back and trying again.

He manages to hit the ball this time, but it gets knocked by one of the game pieces and lands as far as possible from the hole. Lance is still chuckling as Keith trudges over, refusing to look at any of them.

It takes him eight shots to finally get the ball in, and Lance has one hand pressed to his side, claiming pain from the laughter. Hunk writes down a ‘six’ in pity, claiming that’s technically the highest he can get, and they move onto the next hole.

Lance slings an arm around his shoulders as they walk, his putter propped up over his other shoulder. “You never play put-put before?” he asks in a low voice. Keith glares at the space in front of him—coincidentally Pidge’s back—and mutters a low, “no.”

“I could tell,” Lance says in reply. “I could give you some pointers, you know.”

“No thanks,” Keith snaps.

Lance isn’t fazed. “Your choice, buddy.” And then the arm is gone from his shoulders just in time for Lance to line up to take his next shot.

Surprising no one, Lance sinks another hole in one.

Also surprising no one, Keith swings another six (technically it was a nine, but Hunk was being kind).

By the time the game is over, Keith is annoyed with a score of 101, and Lance scores a 21, much to Pidge’s annoyance.

In their Lyft back to the hotel, Lance crows over his victory while Hunk desperately tries to get him to shut up, to no avail.

But honestly, the smile on Lance’s face and the soft lines around his eyes make Keith somehow alright with it.

~~~

**March 9 th**

After a long week, they’re all back in the airport, ready (or not) to fly home. Keith only has his backpack with him now, and Lance dozes in the seat next to him while they wait for their flight. His head bobs every now and then as gravity pulls him down, and he shoots up with a soft snort every time. An incriminating video has already made its way on to Keith’s snapchat, to which Lance will shriek about later. But for now, it’s funny to watch him sleep.

Until Lance’s head bobs down and lands on Keith’s shoulder. Keith immediately freezes, stiffening under the unexpected touch, but the dead-to-the-world Lance sleeps on, oblivious. Hunk and Pidge are engrossed in a conversation about something tech related, and Keith has half a mind to flick the loser on the forehead to wake him up.

But Lance looks peaceful (and is mercifully silent) like this, and Keith side eyes him, watching his brown hair flutter with a heavy exhale.

Lance snuggles in deeper, as if sensing that Keith is going to wake him up and shove him off.

They stay like that until their plane arrives and Lance blinks sleepy blue eyes at him, a red flush to his cheeks when he sees the small drool spot on Keith’s shoulder.

But neither says anything about what happened, and they board their flight, and Keith thinks about nothing their whole ride home.

~~~

**March 19 th**

They’ve been back at classes for a full week now and Keith already hates life. He’s trudging his way to Coran’s class, only half of his homework completed in his bag, hoping that Lance will be there early enough to let Keith finish copying the rest of it.

But when he arrives, his seat is empty.

_He might just be running late,_ he thinks as he slides down into his own respective seat.

_Maybe he spent too long doing his hair,_ he thinks as the bell rings.

_Did he get hit by a car?_ he wonders when fifteen drawling minutes have passed.

With Coran’s back turned as he writes something on the Smartboard, Keith pulls out his phone under his desk and shoots a quick text to Lance.

**coran’s lecture is the most boring thing, where are you?**

He slips his phone back into his pocket, side eye trained on the door as if Lance will show up at any minute, blue-eyed and fluffy hair, holding two cups of coffee with some bullshit excuse as to why he’s late.

Class drags on and still no Lance. He’s only mildly paying attention to the lesson at this point, too stuck on wondering where his usual annoyance is. Allura is behind him, so he’s not sneaking off with her, and Keith was pretty sure Hunk and Pidge had access to some fancy research lab today so there’s no reason for him to be off with them. And he always gives Keith such shit when he skips (even the times he was sick), so where the fuck is this asshole?

Class is dismissed and people are on their way out when he snags Allura by the arm and pulls her aside.

“Any idea where Lance is?” he asks, and her eyes crinkle. “He usually texts me when he’s skipping, and he brags about his immune system, so I doubt he’s sick.”

She shrugs, light and airy. “No idea,” is her response. “Maybe he just overslept?”

“Alright, well, thanks,” Keith mutters, growing slightly less concerned. His grip slides off Allura’s arm, and she takes a step back, spinning on her heel and striding down the hall. She pauses after just a few steps, and then stops, turning back to Keith. One of her hands fiddles nervously with the hem of her pleated skirt, and the other has a tight grip on her bag strap. “If you do see him, tell him I’m thinking of him,” she says, and Keith thinks she looks just a little flustered. But before he can analyze what the hell that was, she’s spinning around again, skirt flaring, and back down the hall and around the corner.

A text buzzes in from Lance at that moment.

_something came up, just couldn’t make it to class today._

It washes over Keith like a wave. He hasn’t really known Lance for that long in the scheme of things, but something in his text seems… off.

**well, alright. I have the notes from class if you want them?**

Keith waits for a moment to see if Lance is going to respond, but when no typing bubbles come up and no response comes through, Keith sets back on his way back to his dorm.

There’s no reason to be concerned. Lance just skipped today, no biggie. If Allura wasn’t concerned, he didn’t need to be. Lance was fine without him.

Lance was fine.

Keith is ashamed at how fast he whips out his phone the moment another text buzzes in.

_maybe another time._

**are you doing alright? something really must have happened if you missed class today, Mr. Perfect Attendance**

_yeah._

His steps falter and he nearly trips on the path. That… was not the response he was expecting. At all.

**well you don’t seem alright. do I need to call hunk/pidge? are you sick?**

He waits. He waits and he waits and waits for Lance to answer and he’s just exited the messaging app when a notification from Lance fills up the top portion of the screen.

_not sick. but not great either._

Keith frowns down at his phone. Lance is definitely off. And he’s about to text back when another text slides in.

_are you free right now? I just kind of need to be with someone. if not that’s totally fine._

**course. on my way**

He’s nearly there when he slows his faster-than-normal pace, eyeing the short line at the food cart. A moment’s worth of hesitation and then he’s stepping into line, a five-minute delay for a single brown bag.

He has to scroll up in their chat in order to find which room number he’s in again, but then he’s knocking on Lance’s door.

Shuffling from the other side indicates that Lance isn’t seriously hurt or sick, and Keith is holding the bag up to his head, his words already prepped on his tongue, when the door opens, and everything stops.

Lance’s face is puffy, and his eyes are red-rimmed and blood shot. His hair is ruffled and his baggy shirt has stains all over it that Keith doesn’t really even want to guess at the origin of. He sniffles, once, mouth wobbling.

He looks devastated, and with a rush, Keith knows.

Keith knows what grief looks like.

“My abuela—” Lance tries to say, and then his whole face crumples and those red-rimmed eyes fill with tears that slip over, trailing well-known paths down his face. His whole-body sags downward and Keith lets instinct take over as he steps forward, setting the brown bag down on the nearest counter and slipping his bag off his shoulders, dropping it haphazardly somewhere on the ground.

Lance is sobbing, hard and loud, and Keith doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know if he should hug him or just stand there or even if he should speak.

_This is Lance,_ he reminds himself.

So he steps forward, to where Lance is crying so hard that he’s hiccupping, and Keith doesn’t think he’s getting any air in at all.

A palm on either side of Lance’s face, gently pulling away the fingers that dig into his pretty cheekbones, soft skin under the rough callouses of his hands. Keith doesn’t have the time to appreciate just how smooth his cheeks are, staring intently at the scrunched-up face just a mere foot from his own.

“Hey,” he says in a low voice. “Hey, Lance. I need you to breathe for me.”

Lance shudders under his touch, and then tries to take a deep breath in but it’s rough—hard, side-splitting inhales followed by several, even worse exhales.

“Breathe,” he says again, and he can almost hear Shiro’s voice saying it too. “I need you to breathe for me.”

Another unsuccessful attempt, and Lance’s face is losing color.

“Like this,” Keith says, and then takes a deep inhale. “Focus on the things around you.” Exhale.

Lance’s jaw trembles, but he takes the steadiest inhale Keith has seen so far. His exhale is still choppy, but it sounds like he’s getting air into his lungs and calming down. Keith breathes with him the next time, and Lance shudders again as he exhales, like he’s blowing everything else inside of him out as well.

“There you go,” Keith says, and Lance sniffles. “Better now?”

Lance nods in his grip. Another inhale, held for a beat of seven, and then exhale again. His eyes flutter open, and Keith hates the way he immediately notices how vivid the blue is against the red.

“Can you walk?” Keith asks, and when Lance nods again, he leads them over to his couch. As Lance sits, Keith takes inventory of the pile of tissues stacked up on the coffee table and the discarded phone next to them. There’s no water bottle in sight, and a frayed photograph sits on the other side of the tissue pile.

Lance has curled himself into a ball, silent and watching Keith. His chin is tucked on his knees, his arms around his shins. Keith’s heart aches as they gaze back at each other, aches because he knows this feeling all too well.

“What do you need me to do?” Keith asks, and Lance just stares back at him, tears still running but slower now. He’s not heaving with sobs anymore, so Keith takes that as an improvement.

The brown bag is still where he left it, and he tries all the drawers in the kitchen before he manages to find a spoon. Taking that and a water bottle from the fridge, he sits down opposite Lance, and pulls out a to-go bowl.

“Did you bring me soup?” Lance’s voice is hoarse, like he hasn’t used it all day.

Keith shrugs. “It’s not gonna be nearly as good as what you brought me, but…” he trails off when he sees the fresh round of tears. “Lance,” he says gently, and Lance just shakes his head violently.

“That was my abuela’s recipe,” he says in a broken voice. “And now—” he breaks off, making a choking noise. “And now she’s gone.”

It guts him; between the look on Lance’s face and the grief all around him, it’s like he’s being carved out too.

“Well damn, maybe the soup was a bad idea,” Keith says, but the words sound weak to his own ears and the smile on his face fails. “I’m sorry,” he tries again. “I didn’t know.”

Lance shakes his head, softer this time. “She used to claim it was the cure to everything. And it was.” There’s a weak laugh from him, and Keith can see the way his face changes when he thinks about all the times before now with the soup.

Lance rubs at his eyes with the backs of his hands. “I’m sorry, I’m such a mess right now.”

“No, Lance, don’t apologize. It’s totally fine. I wouldn’t have brought the soup had I known.”

Lance gives him a weak smile. “Yeah, but you tried. You did what you thought would help.” Shaky hands reach out and take the spoon and the rapidly cooling to-go bowl. “And that’s what counts.” He holds both items in his lap, and stares down at them, unmoving.

Keith watches him for a moment, waiting to see if he’s going to move, and when he doesn’t, Keith stands back up, collecting the used tissues from the table and depositing them with a wrinkled nose into the nearest trashcan. And then he starts to pick up elsewhere around the apartment, washing out a broken bowl in the sink and replacing the toweling.

Lance doesn’t say a word through all of this.

Various phone alerts chime, none of them on Keith’s phone. But not once does Lance reach for his phone, but instead swirls his spoon through the soup.

“I didn’t know what kind you would like, so I just got what sounded the best. They didn’t have chicken noodle.”

Lance takes a single bite and wrinkles his nose. “You were right when you said it wouldn’t taste like abuela’s.”

Keith can’t help the small chuckle that comes out of his mouth when Lance takes another bite.

When there’s nothing left for him to do, Keith takes a seat back on the couch, body angled away from Lance.

Lance clears his throat, and Keith slides his eyes over to him, only to find Lance staring down into his soup bowl with an empty expression. “She passed away in her sleep last night,” he says slowly. “No heart attack, nothing violent or painful. She just fell asleep and never woke up again.”

“Well it’s good that she went peacefully,” Keith says above the sound of wretched screams in his head.

Lance nods. “My mama called this morning. God I just—” a fresh round of tears spills over “—I can’t believe she’s gone. Just like that.”

Keith nods; there’s nothing he can say to that. Nothing he will say to that.

“Were you close to her?”

Lance chuckles, a wet sound. “She practically raised me. I’m the youngest of five, but we’re all pretty close in age, so my abuela liked to help out where she could with so many young children. But she always loved me best.” A sad smile.

“You loved her a lot.” It’s not a question.  
“Yeah.”

They sit in silence as Lance takes another bite of soup. “This really is shit,” he says, but when Keith looks over, an explanation ready, he sees the faintest smirk on Lance’s face.

“I asked them to get me the worst possible thing, just for you.” It earns him a small chuckle, and Keith feels the ache of the grief begin to lessen.

“Thanks for coming over,” Lance says quietly, uncurling himself in order to set the empty bowl and spoon on the coffee table.

“Yeah. You asked, and well, here I am,” Keith says lamely.

“Here you are.”

The silence is awkward now. Before, it had been natural, comfortable despite the ache. But this kind of silence makes Keith squirm.

Lance picks up his phone, unlocking it and scrolling through. Keith, honest to god, twiddles his thumbs and waits.

But then a sharp inhale grabs his attention, and Keith can practically hear glass shatter when he sees the look on Lance’s face.

The phone falls from his grip and Lance barely reacts.

“Lance?”

“I—” Blue eyes are pained. “Fuck,” he whispers, and then buries his face in his hands, back shaking.

_Fuck fuck fuck_

He’s scooching over on the couch and his hand is on Lance’s back before he even knows what he’s doing. Soothing, slow circles, and Lance slowly melts under his touch.

“What happened?” he asks, almost afraid of the question and answer.

“My family can’t afford to fly me back to Cuba between the funeral costs and everything else. And all the spare money I had saved went to spring break, so I can’t pay for myself either. I’m gonna miss her funeral,” he chokes out in a horrified voice.

“Lance…” he says, like it’s the only word he knows. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“God, that was such a stupid fucking thing,” he growls, and Keith stills at the sudden change in temperament.

“What was?”

“Going somewhere for spring break. Had I flown back home like they asked me to, I could have—” he breaks off, sitting up and placing his elbows on his knees, hard face contrasting his weak eyes, “I could have said goodbye.”

“Lance, there was no way for you to know that this was going to happen. You can’t blame yourself for living in the moment and doing what just about every other college kid did.”

“But I wasted that money, and now I’m going to miss her funeral. I’m a fucking terrible person.”

Keith’s hand stops entirely.

“So you’re telling me that you hated every minute of beach week?”

Lance turns his head to look at him. “What? No.”

“Well you just said you wasted that money. So the beach was shit, the friends you went with were shit, and all of it was a colossal fuck up.”

“That’s—”

“So none of it was worth it? The time spent with Pidge and Hunk weren’t worth it? Kicking my ass at mini-golf wasn’t worth it?” He lets a little bit of anger slip into his tone.

“What are you doing?”

“You just said that you wasted that money, so therefore everything you spent it on was a waste.”

“I…”

“Yeah. Exactly. I see everything now.”  
“It wasn’t a waste!” Lance blurts out, looking like a different kind of upset. “I had a good time, alright?”

“There you go. There was no way for you to know that this was going to happen. Living your life isn’t a waste, Lance.”

Lance nods, and for the first time, Keith sees a glimpse of the Lance he normally knows. His hand goes back to rubbing circles. “Your grandma knows you loved her. I know she does. You told the seagull that stole Pidge’s ice cream that you loved it. Everyone knows how much you love, Lance. Her most of all.”

His heart pangs when he thinks of a different her.

“Yeah,” Lance says slowly. “Yeah. I told her that every week.”

“See?”

Lance nods at him, and Keith’s heart skips. “It’s gonna be alright. She lived a good life.”

That earns a dry chuckle out of Lance. “She definitely did.”

They lean back on the couch, and Keith is getting up to clear away the trash when Lance reaches out a hand and in a quiet voice, whispers, “stay.”

Keith stays with him for the rest of the day.  
~~~

**March 26 th**

It’s the day of the funeral. Lance had told him when he found out, and Keith shows up without any prompting, with two coffees and a box of tissues stuffed inside his bag.

Hunk looks him up and down as he walks by, and then wraps his fingers around Keith’s bicep to drag him a little to the side. “He’s fragile,” Hunk says in a low voice, and Keith side-eyes him. “Just be careful with him, alright?”

He nods, unsure of what else to say, and then Hunk releases him, patting him on the shoulder. “I would stay if I could but…”

“You’ve got your research lab, I get it. Go, do what you need to do.”

Hunk gives him a grateful smile. “Thanks man.”

And then he’s gone.

The door to the apartment is still open, and Keith takes it as an invitation, walking in and setting the two coffees on the countertop. It doesn’t take him long to spot Lance, kicking the door shut with his heel.

“Hey man,” he says, and Lance’s head pops a fraction out of the blanket huddle he’s in. “I brought coffee. I don’t have your coffee guessing skills so I took some cream and sugar with me too.”

Lance only sniffles in reply.

Keith takes everything over to him, practically shoving Lance out of the middle of the couch and to the other end, and they sit with a respectable distance between them.

Lance dumps two creamers into his coffee, tastes, and then adds a third, ignoring the sugar all together. Keith watches him with careful eyes, noticing the way his hands shake as he stirs his drink.

_Grief doesn’t look good on anyone._

There’s still that familiar pang when he remembers, still aches in a way that time won’t let him forget.

_You know grief better than anyone,_ his mind whispers.

Lance silently points to the tissues on the coffee table, and Keith passes them to him.

One of them puts on a movie, and they don’t talk.

The movie is happy, and has a good ending, and Keith pretends not to see the tears on Lance’s face.

Somehow, at some point, the respectable distance between them becomes smaller and smaller.

Somehow, in some way, they end up sharing Lance’s blanket huddle, and when Hunk returns later, they’re both asleep, heads on each other’s shoulders.

Somehow, despite it all, the space between them closes.

~~~

**March 28 th**

It’s the first day Lance has been back to classes since his abuela passed. He had been excused for grief, and funeral accommodations, even though he didn’t attend the funeral.

Either way, Lance is sitting next to him in class again, and it’s a Thursday, meaning they’re doing group work.

And Lance is there, laughing at something the person behind him said, blue eyes not quite as bright as they usually are. But he’s here, and he’s in class, and he’s laughing.

It’s a Thursday morning when Keith knows.

It doesn’t hit him all at once, the way most things do. This has been sneaking up for some time now, until it was there and it’s a single sentence that strikes him in the chest.

He’s looking at Lance as he solves a math problem, tongue barely poking through his full lips, and he’s got his pencil rested on the tip of his nose. It’s when he says a ridiculously wrong answer and his eyebrows scrunch, a subtle sign that he didn’t think it was so ridiculous, when it happens.

_God, I can’t believe I like this dumbass._

And everything seems to slow down just a bit.

Lance looks up at him, and there’s a question asked to deaf ears as blue meets violet.

_Oh god._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh hey look, feelings!
> 
> this is where it really starts to get into it folks, and boy am i excited. i'm really sorry that this took so long to post, life has been bleh. I'm going to try and write/get the next chapter done within a week because i'm about to get major surgery that means i'm not allowed to type for two months... yeah. (i probably will anyway and just be in pain, oops)
> 
> come find me @:   
> tumbr: blondeslytherin  
> insta: blondeslytherine

**Author's Note:**

> okay so i'm hoping this goes better the second time around because i was lowkey kind of upset about the way this formatted and other things the first time, so here it is again. Comments and kudos are my sustenance, and def help me to write (meaning that i might update faster ;) ). 
> 
> come shout at me @:  
> tumblr: blondeslytherin  
> insta: blondeslytherine


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